The Casebook Of Sherlock Holmes and Luna Watson
by Luna.T.Lawliet
Summary: Luanna Watson and Sherlock Holmes are in love... What could possibly go wrong? Follow them as they solve even more cases with dear John keeping a record. Sherlock/OC/John. Based on Granada TV shows and book. Better than it sounds. Sherlock is a little OOC. Sequel to 'The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes and Luna Watson'.
1. The Disappearance: Chapter One

_**Hello, greets and so forth. **_

_**As you probably know, I am Beth AKA Luna. and this is my newest story 'The casebook of Sherlock Holmes and Luna Watson'. **_

_**I'm soo happy to be back with this story and if you haven't read 'The memoirs of Sherlock Holmes and Luna Watson', I would suggest you do so as to minimise possible confusion later on.**_

_**Now for a hurried disclaimer... I do not own any characters that you may recognise like Sherlock, John, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade or even 221b Baker Street. I do, however, own all of the books, countless DVDs, a flask of steaming black coffee and Luanna though her last name isn't of my own creation. **_

_**Just wish to say that updates will probably be slow at first for I'm still revising for countless exams but I shall try and update as often as possible. **_

_**Alright then...**_

_**Please enjoy the first chapter of 'The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax'.**_

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"But why Turkish?" Sherlock asked, his gaze fixed on my boots. I was reclining in a cane-backed chair at that moment, and my protruded feet had attracted his ever-active attention.

"English," I answered him with some surprise. "I purchased them from Latimer's in Oxford Street." Holmes simply smiled with an expression of weary patience from his position between my sister's legs. Now please, I beg of you not to think me vulgar, however I could see no other way to word the way they were sat other than that. Perhaps, if I were to say that he was perched between her thighs, her chest pressed against his back, while she gently massaged his temples, it would better portray the way they were sat.

"He's speaking about the bath John. Why the relaxing and rather costly Turkish in place of the invigorating home-made article?" she explained with a small smile as our friend gave a quiet groan, his head lulling back onto the bosom of my young baby sister. Lately, he seemed to be experiencing terrible headaches which had caused her to evolve a way of calming them down as to avoid him using other 'methods' that may prove hazardous to his health in the long run. I could find no wrong in the daily practise as it seemed to mellow down his nerves.

"Because for the last few days I have been feeling rheumatic and old. A Turkish bath is what we call an alternative in medicine a fresh starting-point, a cleanser of the system. And, by the way, Holmes," I added, "I have no doubt the connection between my boots and a Turkish bath is a perfectly self-evident one to a logical mind such as yours and Luna's, and yet I should be obliged to you if you would indicate it."

"The train of reasoning is not very obscure, Watson," said Holmes with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "It belongs to the same elementary class of deduction which I should illustrate if I were to ask you who shared your cab in your drive this morning."

"I don't admit that a fresh illustration is an explanation," said I with some asperity.

"Bravo, Watson! A very dignified and logical remonstrance. Let me see, what were the points? Take the last one first the cab. You observe that you have some splashes on the left sleeve and shoulder of your coat."

"Had you sat in the centre of a hansom, you would probably have had no splashes, and if you had then they would have certainly been symmetrical." My sister cut in, her hands trailing from gently rubbing his temples to stroking his chest soothingly. A moment later, his hands moved up to clasp hers, pulling them up so he could press a kiss to the back of them. I shall admit that, occasionally, I found it strange to see Sherlock so domestic but when he's paired with my sister, I found that I couldn't see him in any other light.

"Therefore it is clear that you sat at the side. Therefore it is equally clear that you had a companion."

"That is very evident."

"Absurdly commonplace, is it not?"

"Now love, let's not brag." Luna jested, resting her chin on his shoulder.

"But the boots and the bath?"

"Equally childish. You are in the habit of doing up your boots in a certain way. I see them on this occasion fastened with an elaborate double bow, which is not your usual method of tying them. You have, therefore, had them off. Who has tied them? A boot maker or the boy at the bath. It is unlikely that it is the boot maker, since your boots are nearly new. Well, what remains? The bath. Absurd, is it not? But, for all that, the Turkish bath has served a purpose."

"What is that?"

"You say that you have had it because you need a change. Let me suggest that you take one. How would Lausanne do, my dear Watson first-class tickets and all expenses paid on a princely scale?"

"Splendid! But why?"

Holmes leaned back into my sister's embrace and then took his notebook from the breast pocket of his suit jacket.

"One of the most dangerous classes in the world," said he, "is the drifting and friendless woman. She is the most harmless and often the most useful of mortals, but she is the inevitable inciter of crime in others. She is helpless. She is migratory. She has sufficient means to take her from country to country and from hotel to hotel. She is lost, as often as not, in a maze of obscure pensions and boardinghouses. She is a stray chicken in a world of foxes. When she is gobbled up she is hardly missed. I much fear that some evil has come to the Lady Frances Carfax."

I was relieved at this sudden descent from the general to the particular. As the detective was about to consult his notes, my sister plucked them from his hands with a cheeky giggle which drew a short huff from her partner.

"Lady Frances," she continued for him, "is the sole survivor of the direct family of the late Earl of Rufton. The estates went, as you may remember, in the male line. She was left with limited means, but with some very remarkable old Spanish jewellery of silver and curiously cut diamonds to which she was fondly attached..." The notebook was once again in the hands of Sherlock as he childishly stuck his tongue out at her, almost waving the book in front of her face.

"Too attached, for she refused to leave them with her banker and always carried them about with her. A rather pathetic figure, the Lady Frances, a beautiful woman, still in fresh middle age, and yet, by a strange change, the last derelict of what only twenty years ago was a goodly fleet."

"What has happened to her, then?"

"Ah, what has happened to the Lady Frances? Is she alive or dead? There is our problem. She is a lady of precise habits, and for four years it has been her invariable custom to write every second week to Miss Dobney, her old governess, who has long retired and lives in Camberwell. It is this Miss Dobney who has consulted me. Nearly five weeks have passed without a word. The last letter was from the Hotel National at Lausanne. Lady Frances seems to have left there and given no address. The family are anxious, and as they are exceedingly wealthy no sum will be spared if we can clear the matter up."

"Is Miss Dobney the only source of information? Surely she had other correspondents?"

"There is one correspondent who is a sure draw, Watson. That is the bank. Single ladies must live, and their passbooks are compressed diaries. She banks at Silvester's. I have glanced over her account. The last cheque but one paid her bill at Lausanne, but it was a large one and probably left her with cash in hand. Only one cheque has been drawn since."

"To whom, and where?"

"To a Miss Marie Devine. There is nothing to show where the cheque was drawn. It was cashed at the Credit Lyonnais at Montpellie less than three weeks ago. The sum was for fifty pounds." Luna explained, settling to read over Sherlock's shoulder. A small smirk was settled on her crimson painted lips but I didn't know why. All I could do was see the triumphant glint in her eyes and observe the tiniest of shivers on his part then join up the dots in my mind.

"And who is Miss Marie Devine?" I asked, trying not to let them see the small grin which was making it's way onto my face.

"That's also something I have been able to discover. Miss Marie Devine was the maid of Lady Frances Carfax. Why she should have paid this cheque, we have not yet determined. I have no doubt, however, that your researches will soon clear the matter up."

"_My_ researches!" I cried out. As he was about to speak again, Luna placed a hand over his mouth.

"Hence the health-giving expedition to Lausanne. Sadly, as you know, it's impossible for Sherlock to leave London while old Abrahams is in such mortal terror of his life." she explained, shooting the occasional apologetic look towards me.

"Besides, on general principles alone, it is best that I should not leave the country. Scotland Yard would feel lonely without me, and it tends to cause an unhealthy excitement among the criminal classes."

"And the reason behind why my beloved sister cannot accompany me?" I inquired, taking note of how he suddenly tensed in her embrace before wrapping his arms around her, his hands resting on the small of her back.

"You know how the thought of prolonged separation unsettles your sister." He said casually though the look she gave him was enough to tell me that he was lying.

"Actually John, I suggested that I go to the hotel with you but Sherlock finds separation difficult as of late though the reason remains unclear to me." She explained, drawing a look from the detective but before she could speak, he interrupted her.

"Go, then, my dear Watson, and if my humble counsel can ever be valued at so extravagant a rate as two pence a word, it waits your disposal night and day at the end of the Continental wire."

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_**Hope you like it!**_

_**Please review! X x x**_

_**Love you all.**_

_**So, Do you like it? Do you hate it? Do you want faster updates? Do you want me to just delete the story and crawl back into my hole? Tell me by dropping a review in the little box down there**_

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	2. The Disappearance: Chapter Two

_**Sorry for not being able to upload for a while my dears. Don't worry though, I will make sure to find a good rhythm for updating. **_

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_**I'd like to dedicate this chapter to:**_

_**CrazyPerson2671 – I'm glad that you've enjoyed the last story and hope you will enjoy this one just as much, if not more ;) Thank you for reading. **_

_**And **_

_**sre16animelover – Thank you for reading lovely :) **_

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_**I hope you enjoy...**_

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Two days later found me at the Hotel National at Lausanne, where I received every courtesy at the hands of M. Moser, the well-known manager. Lady Frances, as he informed me, had stayed there for several weeks. She had been much liked by all who met her. Her age was not more than forty. She was still handsome and bore every sign of having in her youth been a very lovely woman. M. Moser knew nothing of any valuable jewellery, but it had been remarked by the servants that the heavy trunk in the lady's bedroom was always scrupulously locked. Marie Devine, the maid, was as popular as her mistress. She was actually engaged to one of the head waiters in the hotel, and there was no difficulty in getting her address. It was 11 Rue de Trajan, Montpellier. All this I jotted down and felt that my sister nor Holmes himself could not have been more adroit in collecting their facts.

Only one corner still remained in the shadow. No light which I possessed could clear up the cause for the lady's sudden departure. She was very happy at Lausanne. There was every reason to believe that she intended to remain for the season in her luxurious rooms overlooking the lake. And yet she had left at a single day's notice, which involved her in the useless payment of a week's rent. Only Jules Vibart, the lover of the maid, had any suggestion to offer. He connected the sudden departure with the visit to the hotel a day or two before of a tall, dark, bearded man.

"_Un_ _sauvage_ _un_ _veritable_ _sauvage_!" cried Jules Vibart. The man had rooms somewhere in the town. He had been seen talking earnestly to Madame on the promenade by the lake. Then he had called. She had refused to see him. He was English, but of his name there was no record. Madame had left the place immediately afterwards. Jules Vibart, and, what was of more importance, Jules Vibart's sweetheart, thought that this call and the departure were cause and effect. Only one thing Jules would not discuss. That was the reason why Marie had left her mistress. Of that he could or would say nothing. If I wished to know, I must go to Montpellier and ask her.

So ended the first chapter of my inquiry. The second was devoted to the place which Lady Frances Carfax had sought when she left Lausanne. Concerning this there had been some secrecy, which confirmed the idea that she had gone with the intention of throwing someone off her track. Otherwise why should not her luggage have been openly labelled for Baden? Both she and it reached the Rhenish spa by some circuitous route. This much I gathered from the manager of Cook's local office. So to Baden I went, after dispatching to Holmes an account of all my proceedings and receiving in reply a telegram of half-humorous commendation.

At Baden the track was not difficult to follow. Lady Frances had stayed at the Englischer Hof for a fortnight. While there she had made the acquaintance of a Dr. Shlessinger and his wife, a missionary from South America. Like most lonely ladies, Lady Frances found her comfort and occupation in religion. Dr. Shlessinger's remarkable personality, his whole hearted devotion, and the fact that he was recovering from a disease contracted in the exercise of his apostolic duties affected her deeply. She had helped Mrs. Shlessinger in the nursing of the convalescent saint. He spent his day, as the manager described it to me, upon a lounge-chair on the veranda, with an attendant lady upon either side of him. He was preparing a map of the Holy Land, with special reference to the kingdom of the Midianites, upon which he was writing a monograph. Finally, having improved much in health, he and his wife had returned to London, and Lady Frances had started thither in their company. This was just three weeks before, and the manager had heard nothing since. As to the maid, Marie, she had gone off some days beforehand in floods of tears, after informing the other maids that she was leaving service forever. Dr. Shlessinger had paid the bill of the whole party before his departure.

"By the way," said the landlord in conclusion, "you are not the only friend of Lady Frances Carfax who is inquiring after her just now. Only a week or so ago we had a man here upon the same errand."

"Did he give a name?" I asked.

"None; but he was an Englishman, though of an unusual type."

"A savage?" said I, linking my facts after the fashion of my illustrious friend.

"Exactly. That describes him very well. He is a bulky, bearded, sunburned fellow, who looks as if he would be more at home in a farmers' inn than in a fashionable hotel. A hard, fierce man, I should think, and one whom I should be sorry to offend."

Already the mystery began to define itself, as figures grow clearer with the lifting of a fog. Here was this good and pious lady pursued from place to place by a sinister and unrelenting figure. She feared him, or she would not have fled from Lausanne. He had still followed. Sooner or later he would overtake her. Had he already overtaken her? Was _that_ the secret of her continued silence? Could the good people who were her companions not screen her from his violence or his blackmail? What horrible purpose, what deep design, lay behind this long pursuit? There was the problem which I had to solve.

To Holmes and my sister, I wrote showing how rapidly and surely I had gotten down to the roots of the matter but in return, I received this telegram.

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_To my dear Watson,_

_It seems to me as though you're making good haste in collecting your information and piecing together that information to solidify your investigation. However, it would be of excellent use to me if you could give me a description of 's left ear in as much detail as you like. _

_**Hello John,**_

_**Please, don't ignore Sherlock's strange request. I am aware that it sounds completely irrelevant but the glint in his eyes when his thoughts centre around it, is one of complete assurance.  
I hope you're enjoying your time there as I have it on the very best authority that is is a beautiful place and an luxurious hotel which spares no expense which it comes to providing it's occupants with comfort. As for the pair of us, we shall remain here in London but please, don't hesitate to write again Brother. Despite the short time it has been, I find myself missing you dearly.**_

_**All of my love,**_

_**Luna. **S.H. _

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Holmes' ideas of humour are strange and occasionally offensive, so I took no notice of his ill-timed jest indeed, I had already reached Montpellier in my pursuit of the maid, Marie, before his message came however my sister's words didn't fail to place a smile on my face.

I had no difficulty in finding the ex-servant and in learning all that she could tell me. She was a devoted creature, who had only left her mistress because she was sure that she was in good hands, and because her own approaching marriage made a separation inevitable in any case. Her mistress had, as she confessed with distress, shown some irritability of temper towards her during their stay in Baden, and had even questioned her once as if she had suspicions of her honesty, and this had made the parting easier than it would otherwise have been. Lady Frances had given her fifty pounds as a wedding-present. Like me, Marie viewed with deep distrust the stranger who had driven her mistress from Lausanne. With her own eyes she had seen him seize the lady's wrist with great violence on the public promenade by the lake. He was a fierce and terrible man. She believed that it was out of dread of him that Lady Frances had accepted the escort of the Shlessingers to London. She had never spoken to Marie about it, but many little signs had convinced the maid that her mistress lived in a state of continual nervous apprehension.

So far she had got in her narrative, when suddenly she sprang from her chair and her face was convulsed with surprise and fear. "See!" she cried. "The miscreant follows still! There is the very man of whom I speak."

Through the open sitting-room window I saw a huge, swarthy man with a bristling black beard walking slowly down the centre of the street and staring eagerly at he numbers of the houses. It was clear that, like myself, he was on the track of the maid. Acting upon the impulse of the moment, I rushed out and accosted him.

"You are an Englishman," I said.

"What if I am?" he asked with a most villainous scowl.

"May I ask what your name is?"

"No, you may not," said he with decision.

The situation was awkward, but the most direct way is often the best as Holmes often preached.

"Where is the Lady Frances Carfax?" I asked.

He stared at me with amazement.

"What have you done with her? Why have you pursued her? I insist upon an answer!" said I.

The fellow gave a below of anger and sprang upon me like a tiger. I have held my own in many a struggle, but the man had a grip of iron and the fury of a fiend. His hand was on my throat and my senses were nearly gone before an unshaven French ouvrier in a blue blouse darted out from a cabaret opposite, with a cudgel in his hand, and struck my assailant a sharp crack over the forearm, which made him leave go his hold.

He stood for an instant fuming with rage and uncertain whether he should not renew his attack. A moment later a woman, dressed in a large white blouse which hung from her shoulders and paired with a tattered blue floor length skirt, stepped out from behind the French man, a small dagger pointing at my attacker's throat. With a snarl of anger, he left me and entered the cottage from which I had just come. I turned to thank my preservers who stood beside me in the roadway.

"Well, Watson," said he, placing an arm around the woman, his hand carefully guiding her arm to rest by her side as he pulled her into him. " a very pretty hash you have made of it! I rather think you had better come back with me and our darling Luna to London by the night express."

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_**Hope you like it!**_

_**Please review! X x x**_

_**Love you all.**_

_**So, Do you like it? Do you hate it? Do you want faster updates? Do you want me to just delete the story and crawl back into my hole? Tell me by dropping a review in the little box down there**_

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	3. The Disappearance: Chapter Three

_**Hello and welcome back to yet another update of 'The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes and Luna Watson'! **_

_**As always, I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the others. **_

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_I'd like to dedicate this chapter to 'CrazyPerson2671' – I am glad that you like this story. As for how it is written, I remain as true to the original stories as I possibly can while bending the events to include Luna. Thank you very much for your reviews and for reading._

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An hour afterwards, Sherlock Holmes, in his usual garb and style, was seated in my private room at the hotel with my sister sat by his feet in the same position she took at Baker Street. Before she had changed, she'd drawn many a look in regards to her costume, as the neckline plunged below a level that could be labelled as descent, which earned many a glare from the detective.

His explanation of their sudden and opportune appearance was simplicity itself, for, finding that they could get away from London, he was determined to head me off at the next obvious point of my travels. In the disguise of a working man, and her as a travelling gypsy, they had sat in the cabaret waiting for my appearance.

"And a singularly consistent investigation you have made, my dear Watson," said he. "I cannot at the moment recall any possible blunder which you have omitted. The total effect of your proceeding has been to give the alarm everywhere and yet to discover nothing."

"Perhaps you would have done no better," I answered bitterly.

"There is no 'perhaps' about it. I _have_ done better. Here is the Hon. Philip Green, who is a fellow-lodger with you in this hotel, and we may find him the starting-point for a more successful investigation."

"Sherlock..." My sister warned but it fell on deaf ears though I found the effort kind none the less.

A card had come up on a salver, and it was followed by the same bearded ruffian who had attacked me in the street. He started when he saw me.

"What is this, Mr. Holmes?" he asked. "I had your note and I have come. But what has this man to do with the matter?"

"This is my old friend and associate, Dr. Watson, who is helping us in this affair."

The stranger held out a huge, sunburned hand, with a few words of apology.

"I hope I didn't harm you. When you accused me of hurting her I lost my grip of myself. Indeed, I'm not responsible in these days. My nerves are like live wires. But this situation is beyond me. What I want to know, in the first place, Mr. Holmes, is, how in the world you came to hear of my existence at all."

"I am in touch with Miss Dobney, Lady Frances's governess."

"Old Susan Dobney with the mob cap! I remember her well."

"And she remembers you. It was in the days before before you found it better to go to South Africa."

"Ah, I see you know my whole story. I need hide nothing from you. I swear to you, Mr. Holmes, that there never was in this world a man who loved a woman with a more wholehearted love than I had for Frances. I was a wild youngster, I know not worse than others of my class. But her mind was pure as snow. She could not bear a shadow of coarseness. So, when she came to hear of things that I had done, she would have no more to say to me. And yet she loved me that is the wonder of it! Loved me well enough to remain single all her sainted days just for my sake alone."

"I must say, her actions were incredibly noble, if not a bit sweet." Luna cooed from her place on my friend's lap while he gave a small nod, his chin perched on her shoulder and his arms wrapped tight around her waist. Glancing down, I noticed his hands tracing patterns on her stomach, something which seemed completely without thought.

"Sorry for my wife's interruption sir. Please, carry on." he said so the tale carried on.

"When the years had passed and I had made my money at Barberton I thought perhaps I could seek her out and soften her. I had heard that she was still unmarried, I found her at Lausanne and tried all I knew. She weakened, I think, but her will was strong, and when next I called she had left the town. I traced her to Baden, and then after a time heard that her maid was here. I'm a rough fellow, fresh from a rough life, and when Dr. Watson spoke to me as he did, I lost hold of myself for a moment."

"Which you should not have done sir. As valuable as you are to the case at hand, I would not have hesitated to slit your throat if you so much as swung for my brother again."

"I'm sorry for that Mrs, truly, I am but for God's sake tell me what has become of the Lady Frances."

"That is for us to find out," said Sherlock Holmes with peculiar gravity, his gaze hardening when the man snapped at my sister. "What is your London address, Mr. Green?"

"The Langham Hotel will find me."

"Then may I recommend that you return there and be on hand in case I should want you? I have no desire to encourage false hopes, but you may rest assured that all that can be done will be done for the safety of Lady Frances. I can say no more for the instant. I will leave you this card so that you may be able to keep in touch with us. Now, Watson, if you will pack your bag I will cable to Mrs. Hudson to make one of her best efforts for three hungry travellers at 7:30 tomorrow."

A telegram was awaiting us when we reached our Baker Street rooms, which Holmes read with an exclamation of interest and threw across to me. "Jagged or torn," was the message, and the place of origin, Baden.

"What is this?" I asked.

"It is everything," Holmes answered. "You may remember my seemingly irrelevant question as to this clerical gentleman's left ear. You did not answer it."

"I had left Baden and could not inquire."

"Exactly. For this reason I sent a duplicate to the manager of the Englischer Hof, whose answer lies here."

"What does it show?"

"It shows, my dear Watson, that we are dealing with an exceptionally astute and dangerous man. The Rev. Dr. Shlessinger, missionary from South America, is none other than Holy Peters, one of the most unscrupulous rascals that Australia has ever evolved and for a young country it has turned out some very finished types. His particular speciality is the beguiling of lonely ladies by playing upon their religious feelings, and his so-called wife, an Englishwoman named Fraser, is a worthy helpmate."

"The nature of his tactics was what suggested his identity to Sherlock, and this physical peculiarity. He was bitten in a saloon fight at Adelaide in '89, hence why he needed to know what the gentleman's left ear looked like." Luna carried on, smiling as he took over once again.

"This poor lady is in the hands of a most infernal couple, who will stick at nothing, Watson. That she is already dead is a very likely supposition. If not, she is undoubtedly in some sort of confinement and unable to write to Miss Dobney or her other friends. It is always possible that she never reached London, or that she has passed through it, but the former is improbable, as, with their system of registration, it is not easy for foreigners to play tricks with the Continental police; and the latter is also unlikely, as _these_ _rouges_ could not hope to find any other place where it would be as easy to keep a person under restraint."

"All of his instincts have been telling him that she is in London, but as we have no possible means of telling where at present, we can only continue in our existence."

"We eat our dinner, and possess our souls in patience. Later in the evening, I and my love will take a stroll and have a word with our friend Lestrade at Scotland Yard." Sherlock finished, earning a confused look from the man.

"Do you two always do that?"

"Finish each other's theories? It happens a lot more often than you could ever imagine. Believe me."

But neither the official police nor Holmes's own small but very efficient organization sufficed to clear away the mystery. Amid the crowded millions of London the three persons we sought were as completely obliterated as if they had never lived. Advertisements were tried, and failed. Clues were followed, and led to nothing. Every criminal resort which Shlessinger might frequent was drawn in vain. His old associates were watched, but they kept clear of him.

And then, after a week of helpless suspense, Luna and Sherlock managed to develop a theory which seemed plausible, something we could look into.

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_**Hope you like it!**_

_**Please review! X x x**_

_**Love you all.**_

_**So, Do you like it? Do you hate it? Do you want faster updates? Do you want me to just delete the story and crawl back into my hole? Tell me by dropping a review in the little box down there**_

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	4. The Disappearance: Chapter Four

_**Hello, greets and so forth. **_

_**I'm sorry for not updating my dears... Last year of high school is extremely stressful with all the exams and things I've gotta do... Hopefully, when I only have 10 hours of school a week, I'll be better at updating but hopefully, I'll be able to start updating every Sunday morning. **_

_**Thank you for reading this story and I hope you enjoy this chapter :) Happy reading **_

_**xxxx**_

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_I'd like to dedicate this chapter to:_

_DarkJenny20 (I'm glad that you like the story darlin', it means a lot to me when people take the time to leave a review, even if it's something as small as 'I like this story!' so thank you very much for taking the time to write a whole paragraph :D )_

_Theresa Ruskin (Thank you for thinking this story is perfect. Personally, I think many things could be improved but I guess that's just an author thing.)_

_Bones-n-Books (I'm sorry for your brief disappointment but here I am again! I'm very glad you like the relationship between Luna and Sherlock... You wouldn't believe how long it actually took for me to get the courage to publish 'The Memoirs'. I didn't want people to hate me, thinking I wanted Luna to replace Irene in some way, even if it wasn't my intention.)_

_Thank you all and thanks to those who follow, favourite and alert this story. I'd be nothing without you, my reviewers and all of my readers. _

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"Why not look at the problem from the reverse side? For a moment, we are no longer the detectives working on the case or even the captive. Instead, let us look from the view of the captor, Shlessinger. He is a greedy man but he will not be able to draw funds from lady Frances Carfax's account at the bank without her." My sister began, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of toast which Holmes had practically forced into her hand on the morning of the seventh day.

"So if we were not able to take money from her bank account, what would we do?" The detective continued, as though he understood her thought processes completely which wouldn't surprise me as he seemed to know her better than even I did which was both a lifting yet worrying thought. I was her older brother. If a man was to know her better than me, I was glad it was my best friend but also a little put out. Soon, she would have no reason for me as she would have someone else to speak to on such an intimate level.

"He will sell her jewellery. Any pawnbroker around here would bite at the chance to own such finery, as well as getting it at a descent price." she added, a small smile creeping onto her face as she took a small sip of her tea.

"So we much check all of the local pawnbrokers that are known for giving a fair price to all of their clientèle!" Sherlock announced, finished their thoughts with a large grin of his own.

Alas, mere hours after coming to such a conclusion, there came a flash of light. A silver-and-brilliant pendant of old Spanish design had been pawned at Bovington's, in Westminster Road. The pawner was a large, clean-shaven man of clerical appearance. His name and address were demonstrably false. The ear had escaped notice, but the description was surely that of Shlessinger.

Three times had our bearded friend from the Langham called for news the third time within an hour of this fresh development. His clothes were getting looser on his great body. He seemed to be wilting away in his anxiety. "If you will only give me something to do!" was his constant wail. At last Holmes could oblige him.

"He has begun to pawn the jewels. We should get him now."

"But does this mean that any harm has befallen the Lady Frances?"

Holmes shook his head very gravely.

"Supposing that they have held her prisoner up to now, it is clear that they cannot let her loose without their own destruction. We must prepare for the worst."

"What can I do?"

"These people do not know you by sight?"

"No."

"It is possible that he will go to some other pawnbroker in the future. In that case, we must begin again. On the other hand, he has had a fair price and no questions asked, so if he is in need of ready-money he will probably come back to Bovington's. I will give you a note to them, and they will let you wait in the shop. If the fellow comes you will follow him home. But no indiscretion, and, above all, no violence. I put you on your honour that you will take no step without either my knowledge or that of my darling's and not without my consent."

For two days the Hon. Philip Green (he was, I may mention, the son of the famous admiral of that name who commanded the Sea of Azof fleet in the Crimean War) brought us no news. On the evening of the third he rushed into our sitting-room, pale, trembling, with every muscle of his powerful frame quivering with excitement.

"We have him! We have him!" he cried.

He was incoherent in his agitation. Luna managed to soothe him with a few choice words, none of which Holmes seemed to agree with if his expression was anything to go by, before thrusting him into an arm chair.

"Come, now, give us the order of events," Sherlock practically ordered, his voice rather hard and cold.

"She came only an hour ago. It was the wife, this time, but the pendant she brought was the fellow of the other. She is a tall, pale woman, with ferret eyes."

"That is the lady," my sister said.

"She left the office and I followed her. She walked up the Kennington Road, and I kept behind her. Presently she went into a shop. Mr. Holmes, it was an undertaker's."

My companion started. "Well?" he asked in that vibrant voice which told of the fiery soul behind the cold grey face.

"She was talking to the woman behind the counter. I entered as well. 'It is late,' I heard her say, or words to that effect. The woman was excusing herself. 'It should be there before now,' she answered. 'It took longer, being out of the ordinary.' They both stopped and looked at me, so I asked some questions and then left the shop."

"You did excellently well. What happened next?"

"The woman came out, but I had hid myself in a doorway. Her suspicions had been aroused, I think, for she looked round her. Then she called a cab and got in. I was lucky enough to get another and so to follow her. She got down at last at N, Poultney Square, Brixton. I drove past, left my cab at the corner of the square, and watched the house."

"Did you see anyone?"

"The windows were all in darkness save one on the lower floor. The blind was down, and I could not see in. I was standing there, wondering what I should do next, when a covered van drove up with two men in it. They descended, took something out of the van, and carried it up the steps to the hall door. Mr. Holmes, it was a coffin."

"Ah!"

"For an instant I was on the point of rushing in. The door had been opened to admit the men and their burden. It was the woman who had opened it. But as I stood there she caught a glimpse of me, and I think that she recognized me. I saw her start, and she hastily closed the door. I remembered my promise to you, and here I am."

"You have done excellent work," said Holmes, scribbling a few words upon a half-sheet of paper. "We can do nothing legal without a warrant, and you can serve the cause best by taking this note down to the authorities and getting one. There may be some difficulty, but I should think that the sale of the jewellery should be sufficient. Lestrade will see to all details."

"But they may murder her in the meanwhile. What could the coffin mean, and for whom could it be but for her?"

"We will do all that can be done, Mr Green, of that I can assure you. Not a moment will be lost, just leave it in our hands." Luna explained softly, patting his shoulder in comfort before he hurried away.

"Now Watson, he will set the regular forces on the move. We are, as usual, the irregulars, and we must take our own line of action. The situation strikes me as so desperate that the most extreme measure are justified. Not a moment is to be lost in getting to Poultney square."

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	5. The Disappearance: Chapter Five

_**Howdy! **_

_**Before you read the latest chapter of 'The Casebook Of Sherlock Holmes and Luna Watson', I would like to know what you think...**_

_**I have finally finished writing an anthology, a collection of dark poetry and a few short stories tossed in there to spice things up a little bit. **_

_**What do you think I should do with it?**_

_**While you ponder that, I shall allow you to read on :) **_

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_I would like to dedicate this chapter to:_

_Amy (Thanks for reading darlin'. I know what you mean, a serious lack of Brett persona, hence the creation of this story though I'll openly admit to straying from his character.) _

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"Let us try to reconstruct the situation," Holmes said as we drove swiftly past the Houses of Parliament and over Westminster Bridge. "These villains have coaxed this unhappy lady to London, after first alienating her from her faithful maid. If she has written any letters they have been intercepted. Through some confederate they have engaged a furnished house. Once inside it, they have made her a prisoner, and they have become possessed of the valuable jewellery which has been their object from the first."

"They have already begun to sell part of it, which seems safe enough to them because they have no reason to think that anyone is interested in the lady's fate. When she is released, she will denounce them. Therefore, she must not be released but they cannot keep her under lock and key forever. So, murder is their only solution." My sister continued, earning a sigh from the consultant detective. He had made his position quite clear when it came to her coming with us. Of course, he had argued that she would be safer at 221b where possible stray bullets couldn't injure her again (something that had caused her to glance down at the silver scar on her palm) while she counteracted it with the logic that three people are better than two. _"There is power in numbers and all that." _

"That seems very clear."

"Now we will take another line of reasoning. When you follow two separate chains of thought, Watson, you will find some point of intersection which should approximate to the truth. We will start now, not from the lady but from the coffin and argue backward. That incident proves, I fear, beyond all doubt that the lady is dead. It points also to an orthodox burial with proper accompaniment of medical certificate and official sanction."

"If the lady had been obviously murdered, they would have buried her in a hole that had been dug up in the back garden. But here all is in the open and regular. What does it mean?" Luna asked, her hand creeping from her lap to take the detective's who allowed her, intertwining their fingers.

"Surely that they have done her to death in some way which has deceived the doctor and simulated a natural end poisoning, perhaps. And yet how strange that they should ever let a doctor approach her unless he were a confederate, which is hardly a credible proposition."

"Could they have forged a medical certificate?" I asked, wishing to be involved in their conversation. Although it was a beautiful thing to watch, a battle of minds that almost matched in wits, it wasn't the easiest thing to follow.

"Dangerous, Watson, very dangerous. No, I hardly see them doing that. Pull up, cabby! This is evidently the undertaker's, for we have just passed the pawnbroker's. Would you go in, Watson? Your appearance inspires confidence. Ask what hour the Poultney Square funeral takes place to-morrow."

The woman in the shop answered me without hesitation that it was to be at eight o'clock in the morning. "You see, Watson, no mystery; everything above-board! In some way the legal forms have undoubtedly been complied with, and they think that they have little to fear. Well, there's nothing for it now but a direct frontal attack. Are you armed?"

"My stick!"

"And you my love?"

"Well..." she said, casually tapping the end of her walking stick onto the floor, a smirk creeping onto her face. "I rarely leave home without my blade but today, I also have a letter opener concealed up the sleeve of my dress."

"Well, well, we shall be strong enough. 'Thrice is he armed who hath his quarrel just.' We simply can't afford to wait for the police or to keep within the four corners of the law. You can drive off, cabby. Now, Watson, my dove, we'll just take our luck together, as we have occasionally in the past."

He had rung loudly at the door of a great dark house in the centre of Poultney Square. It was opened immediately, and the figure of a tall woman was outlined against the dim-lit hall.

"Well, what do you want?" she asked sharply, peering at us through the darkness.

"I want to speak to Dr. Shlessinger," said Holmes.

"There is no such person here," she answered, and tried to close the door, but Holmes had jammed it with his foot.

"Well, I want to see the man who lives here, whatever he may call himself," said Holmes firmly.

She hesitated. Then she threw open the door. "Well, come in!" said she. "My husband is not afraid to face any man in the world." She closed the door behind us and showed us into a sitting-room on the right side of the hall, turning up the gas as she left us. "Mr. Peters will be with you in an instant," she said.

Her words were literally true, for we had hardly time to look around the dusty and moth-eaten apartment in which we found ourselves before the door opened and a big, clean-shaven bald-headed man stepped lightly into the room. He had a large red face, with pendulous cheeks, and a general air of superficial benevolence which was marred by a cruel, vicious mouth.

"There is surely some mistake here, gentlemen," he said in an unctuous, make-everything-easy voice. "I fancy that you have been misdirected. Possibly if you tried farther down the street "

"That will do; I fear we have no time to waste sir," my sister stated firmly, obviously irritated that she had been so blatantly ignored. "You are Henry Peters, of Adelaide, late the Rev. Dr. Shlessinger, of Baden and South America. I am as sure of that as that my own name is Luanna Watson." Peters, as I will now call him, started and stared hard at the detective, pointedly ignoring her once again.

"I guess your name does not frighten me, Mr Holmes," he said coolly. "When a man's conscience is easy you can't rattle him. What is your business in my house?"

"I want to know what you have done with the Lady Frances Carfax, whom you brought away with you from Baden."

"I'd be very glad if you could tell me where that lady may be," Peters answered coolly. "I've a bill against her for a nearly a hundred pounds, and nothing to show for it but a couple of trumpery pendants that the dealer would hardly look at. She attached herself to Mrs. Peters and me at Baden it is a fact that I was using another name at the time and she stuck on to us until we came to London. I paid her bill and her ticket. Once in London, she gave us the slip, and, as I say, left these out-of-date jewels to pay her bills. You find her, Mr. Holmes, and I'm your debtor."

"I _mean_ to find her," said Sherlock Holmes. "I'm going through this house till I do find her."

"Where is your warrant?"

Holmes half drew a revolved from her jacket pocket and when my sister caught onto the movement, she brandished her blade so the point hovered a couple of inches from his throat.

"I believe that this will serve until a better one comes along." she said, smirking at him. It was then that he finally took some notice of the woman.

"Why, you're no more than common burglars."

"Is how you may describe me," Holmes said cheerfully. "My companion is also a dangerous ruffian but I fear that it's my wife who is the most dangerous of the trio. And together, we are going through your house."

Our opponent opened the door.

"Fetch a policeman, Annie!" he cried. There was a whisk of feminine skirts down the passage, and the hall door was opened and shut.

"Sherlock, Can I?" my sister asked, allowing her question to drag on as a sinister looking smirk pulled the corner of her lips up. As the seconds passed, her eyes darted to the door way, her hold tightening on the handle of her weapon until he gave a quick nod of consent. With a squeal, she quickly threw her arms around his neck, rewarding him with a hard kiss before dashing out of the house, the front door slamming a moment later.

"Our time is limited, Watson," said Holmes. "If you try to stop us, Peters, you will most certainly get hurt. Where is that coffin which was brought into your house?"

"What do you want with the coffin? It is in use. There is a body in it."

"I must see the body."

"Never with my consent."

"Then without it." With a quick movement Holmes pushed the fellow to one side and passed into the hall. A door half opened stood immediately before us. We entered. It was the dining-room. On the table, under a half-lit chandelier, the coffin was lying. Holmes turned up the gas and raised the lid. Deep down in the recesses of the coffin lay an emaciated figure. The glare from the lights above beat down upon an aged and withered face. By no possible process of cruelty, starvation, or disease could this worn out wreck be the still beautiful Lady Frances. Holmes' face showed his amazement, and also his relief.

"Thank God!" he muttered. "It's someone else."

"Ah, you've blundered badly for once, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," said Peters, who had followed us into the room.

"Who is the dead woman?"

"Well, if you really must know, she is an old nurse of my wife's, Rose Spender by name, whom we found in the Brixton Workhouse Infirmary. We brought her round here, called in Dr. Horsom, of 13 Firbank Villas mind you take the address, Mr. Holmes and had her carefully tended, as Christian folk should. On the third day she died certificate says senile decay but that's only the doctor's opinion, and of course you know better. We ordered her funeral to be carried out by Stimson and Co., of the Kennington Road, who will bury her at eight o'clock to-morrow morning. Can you pick any hole in that, Mr. Holmes? You've made a silly blunder, and you may as well own up to it. I'd give something for a photograph of your gaping, staring face when you pulled aside that lid expecting to see the Lady Frances Carfax and only found a poor old woman of ninety."

Holmes's expression was as impassive as ever under the jeers of his antagonist, but his clenched hands betrayed his acute annoyance.

"I am going through your house," said he.

"Are you, though!" cried Peters as a woman's voice and heavy steps sounded in the passage. "We'll soon see about that. This way, officers, if you please. These men have forced their way into my house, and I cannot get rid of them. Help me to put them out."

A sergeant and a constable stood in the doorway. Holmes drew his card from his case.

"This is my name and address. This is my friend, Dr. Watson."

"Bless you, sir, we know you very well," said the sergeant, "but you can't stay here without a warrant."

"Of course not. I quite understand that."

"Arrest him!" cried Peters.

"We know where to lay our hands on this gentleman if he is wanted," said the sergeant majestically, "but you'll have to go, Mr. Holmes."

"Yes, Watson, we shall have to go."

A minute later, we were in the street once more. Holmes was as cool as ever, but I was hot with anger and humiliation when the Sergeant, who had followed us out, began to speak.

"Sorry, Mr. Holmes, but that's the law."

"Exactly, Sergeant, you could not do otherwise."

"I expect there was good reason for your presence there. If there is anything I can do "

"It's a missing lady, Sergeant, and we think she is in that house. I expect a warrant presently."

"Then I'll keep my eye on the parties, Mr. Holmes. If anything comes along, I will surely let you know."

That was how my sister found us, her face like thunder, eyes filled with fury. Her left hand was held against her chest, the other behind her back with her stick tucked safely beneath her arm. As she approached, I could envision steam floating off of her. The sergeant who had followed us tentatively inquired about her.

"What's wrong..."

"Mrs Holmes." My companion finished calmly, earning a surprised look from the officer.

"Well, that harpy decided that it would be a good idea to cry for help which was quickly seen to by two rather large, brainless officers. Of course, I was forced to escape their capture which means..." She said, casually pulling a pair of handcuffs from behind her back before tossing them to the sergeant. "These belong to you. Credit where credit is due, they are a good quality. Took me two hairpins and four minutes."

Just as he was about to speak to her, most likely to complain about her like many had done in the past, when the sound of echoes yells reached our eyes. With a small sigh and look towards the heavens, my sister pressed a kiss to my cheek then to Holmes' lips.

"Good evening Sherlock, John. I shall see meet you at home later. Sergeant, until next time." She spoke before dashing off, just as a pair of police officers came around the corner. All the pair of us could do was chuckle as the higher ranked officer looked confused.

"Your wife, Mr Holmes, is one hell of a woman."

"That she is sir. That she is."

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_**Please review! X x x**_

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	6. The Disappearance: Chapter Six

_**Howdy! **_

_**I must offer my sincerest apologises for the constant gaps between updates and I would love to be able to do them more regularly but school must take a priority, as well as trying to find a job to support myself and hopefully, move out soon. **_

_**However, I have set myself a goal to try and update once a week... and if I miss a week, I will update twice the next and so on.**_

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_I would like to dedicate this chapter to:_

_CrazyPerson2671, DarkJenny20, Mammps, XxXDarkAngel369XxX, mcoyne1987, sre16animelover and wonderwoman1721. _

_Thank you all for following this story, I greatly appreciate your interest in this story. _

_And _

_Bones-n-Books, CaterpillarWhisperer, Crazylil1007, DarkJenny20, Hitsugaya Aiko, Mammps, Phantomhawk-writer, TrashedAndScatteredSidewinder, Youkar, kie1993, kittie17, sessybaby666 and sre16animelover._

_Thank you for adding this story to your alerts._

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_**Hope you enjoy the last chapter of 'The Disappearance'.**_

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It was only nine o'clock, and we were off full cry upon the trail at once. First we drove to Brixton Workhouse Infirmary, where we found that it was indeed the truth that a charitable couple had called some days before, that they had claimed an imbecile old woman as a former servant, and that they had obtained permission to take her away with them. No surprise was expressed at the news that she had since died.

The doctor was our next goal. He had been called in, had found the woman dying of pure senility, had actually seen her pass away, and had signed the certificate in due form. "I assure you that everything was perfectly normal and there was no room for foul play in the matter," said he. Nothing in the house had struck him as suspicious save that for people of their class it was remarkable that they should have no servant. So far and no further went the doctor.

Finally we found our way to Scotland Yard. There had been difficulties of procedure in regard to the warrant. Some delay was inevitable. The magistrate's signature might not be obtained until next morning. If Holmes and my sister would call about nine he could go down with Lestrade and see it acted upon. So ended the day, save that near midnight our friend, the sergeant, called to say that he had seen flickering lights here and there in the windows of the great dark house, but that no one had left it and none had entered. We could but pray for patience and wait for the morrow.

Sherlock Holmes was far too irritable to hold a conversation and too restless for sleep. I had left him smoking hard, his heavy, dark brows knotted together, and his long nervous fingers tapping upon the arms of is chair, as he turned over every possible solution of mystery in his mind. My sister, seeming to sense his emotion, didn't speak a word but simply sat in my arm chair by the fire, keeping a close eyes on him. Several times during the course of the night, I heard him prowling about the house. Finally, just after I had been called in the morning, he rushed into my room. He has been in his dressing -gown, but his pale, hollow-eyes face told me that his night had been a sleepless one.

"What time was the funeral? Eight, was it not?" he asked eagerly. "Well, it is 7:20 now. Good heavens, Watson, what has become of any brains that God has given me? I fear I would still be staring at the dwindling flames if not for my love alerting me of the time. Quick, man, quick! It's life or death a hundred chances on death to one on life. I'll never forgive myself, never, if we are too late!"

Five minutes had not passed before we were flying in a hansom down Baker Street, my sister sat in the middle of us. But even so it was twenty-five to eight as we passed Big Ben, and eight struck as we tore down the Brixton Road. But others were late as well as we. Ten minutes after the hour the hearse was still standing at the door of the house, and even as our foaming horse came to a halt the coffin, supported by three men, appeared on the threshold. Holmes darted forward and barred their way.

"Take it back!" he cried, laying his hand on the breast of the foremost. "Take it back this instant!"

"What the devil do you mean? Once again I ask you, where is your warrant?" shouted the furious Peters, his big red face glaring over the farther end of the coffin.

"The warrant is on its way. The coffin shall remain in the house until it comes."

The authority in Holmes' voice had its effect upon the bearers. Peters had suddenly vanished into the house, and they obeyed these new orders. "Quick, Watson, quick! Here is a screw-driver!" he shouted as the coffin was replaced upon the table. "Here's one for you, my man! A sovereign if the lid comes off in a minute! Ask no questions work away! That's good! Another! And another! Now pull all together! It's giving! It's giving! Ah, that does it at last."

With a united effort we tore off the coffin-lid. As we did so there came from the inside a stupefying and overpowering smell of chloroform. A body lay within, its head all wreathed in cotton-wool, which had been soaked in the narcotic. Holmes plucked it off and disclosed the statuesque face of a handsome and spiritual woman of middle age. In an instant he had passed his arm round the figure and raised her to a sitting position.

"Is she gone, Watson? Is there a spark left? Surely we are not too late!"

For half an hour it seemed that we were. What with actual suffocation, and what with the poisonous fumes of the chloroform, the Lady Frances seemed to have passed the last point of recall. And then, at last, with artificial respiration, with injected ether, and with every device that science could suggest, some flutter of life, some quiver of the eyelids, some dimming of a mirror, spoke of the slowly returning life. A cab had driven up, and Holmes, parting the blind, looked out at it. "Here is Lestrade with his warrant," said he. "He will find that his birds have flown. And here," he added as a heavy step hurried along the passage, "is someone who has a better right to nurse this lady than we have. Good morning, Mr. Green; I think that the sooner we can move the Lady Frances the better.

"Meanwhile, as Mr Peters was kind enough to fully fund the funeral service, it shall proceed as planned. Sadly, we have taken her company but take this poor old woman to her final resting place." Luna said, kissing her pointer finger then pressing it carefully to the elderly lady's forehead.

"Should you care to add the case to your annals, my dear Watson," said Holmes that evening, "it can only be as an example of that temporary eclipse to which even the best-balanced mind may be exposed. Such slips are common to all mortals, and the greatest is he who can recognize and repair them. To this modified credit I may, perhaps, make some claim. My night was haunted by the thought that somewhere a clue, a strange sentence, a curious observation, had come under my notice and had been too easily dismissed. Then, suddenly, in the gray of the morning, the words came back to me. It was the remark of the undertaker's wife, as reported by Philip Green. She had said, 'It should be there before now. It took longer, being out of the ordinary.' It was the coffin of which she spoke. It had been out of the ordinary. That could only mean that it had been made to some special measurement. But why? Why? Then in an instant I remembered the deep sides, and the little wasted figure at the bottom. Why so large a coffin for so small a body? To leave room for another body. Both would be buried under the one certificate. It had all been so clear, if only my own sight had not been dimmed. At eight the Lady Frances would be buried. Our one chance was to stop the coffin before it left the house." He explained, an almost frantic nature to his voice.

"I believe someone may be getting old my darling." Luna jested quietly, a small smile creeping onto her face as she rested her head against his knee but she couldn't just leave it there. "Oh look, I think I can see someone getting a grey hair."

"With age comes experience love, you would do well to remember such a thing."

"And with youth comes inquisitiveness and curiosity, two things which are vital in your trade."

"Shush woman, I'm trying to speak with the other rational person in the room."

"Then why are you speaking at all? It's common knowledge to all who know and work with us that the Watson siblings are the only rational people in our trio."

"Ah yes. The doctor author and his young sister who just happens to be involved with Scotland Yard's leading consultant detective,"

"Only consultant detective." I corrected, smirking at him.

"Only consultant detective, yes, thank you Watson. They are the only normal people."

"I believe so dear. Me and John remain somewhat normal while you have an eccentric air which cannot be missed." My sister claimed, giggling before pressing her lips against his own, allowing him to continue afterwards.

"It was a desperate chance that we might find her alive, but it _was_ a chance, as the result showed. These people had never, to my knowledge, done a murder. They might shrink from actual violence at the last. The could bury her with no sign of how she met her end, and even if she were exhumed there was a chance for them. I hoped that such considerations might prevail with them. You can reconstruct the scene well enough. You saw the horrible den upstairs, where the poor lady had been kept so long. They rushed in and overpowered her with their chloroform, carried her down, poured more into the coffin to insure against her waking, and then screwed down the lid. A clever device, Watson. It is new to me in the annals of crime. If our ex-missionary friends escape the clutches of Lestrade, I shall expect to hear of some brilliant incidents in their future career."

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_**Please review! X x x**_

_**Love you all.**_

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	7. Keeping The Senses Sharp

_I'd like to dedicate this chapter to 'Alice': Thank you for thinking this story is wonderful :) I appreciate it. _

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The Baker Street Irregulars, also known as the Baker Street division of Scotland Yard, were invaluable to some of the cases that were given to us by clients and when the police have decided they were out of their depths – which was always, according to both my sister and my friend. For those who are not aware of their existence, good but for those who remain the slightest bit curious, allow me to shed some light onto our invaluable assets and their many different purposes.

The group is made up of street urchins, homeless children, with nothing to do and nowhere to go which gives them the freedom required in order to gather whatever information may be needed for certain cases such as a particular location or a certain boat for example.

Now, as you can probably wager, a certain attachment gets made to any group of children, especially if your name just happens to be Ms Luna Watson. Within the time she knew them, she made it her personal responsibility to make sure that they were taken care of in sickness and looked after in healthy. Of course, this meant that the attachment had been formed in both directions, meaning that the rather large group had taken to calling her 'Mother' though she never seemed to mind. In fact, she smiled at the title they'd gratefully bestowed upon them.

"Curly Joseph Jenkins! What have I told you about pickpocketing Detective Inspector Lestrade?!" Luna had cried particularly loudly one morning though there was a touch of laughter in her voice which she obviously tried to hide. Glacing over the top of my morning paper, I watching in mild amusement as the young man ducked his head, his dirty blonde curls acting as a curtain to hide his face from her. "I would appreciate an answer sweetheart and will not back down in receiving in one so, when you find yourself ready to explain, I will make myself ready to pay attention."

"M-Mr Holmes said it would be okay... as long as I di'nt get caught by 'im." he replied, looking up with a pair of mischievous blue eyes which seemed to lack their usual sparkle. The moment he had finished his sentence, she whipped around to glare at the guilty detective who had been playing his violin a few feet in front of the roaring fire, sneaking the occasional humoured look towards the pair. However, all of us could see that there was no real heat in my sister's face but the expression on her face remained stern.

"Sherlock Holmes!"

"Yes, my love?" He asked, his melody drawing to a gradual close as he turned to face her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Pulling the teenager to stand in front of her, she rested her chin on his bed of freshly cleaned curls, dropping a small affectionate kiss to the top of his head.

"May I ask why you are teaching the children that it is perfectly acceptable to steal?"

"Ah, pet, I can..." He murmured, striding forward towards her. She had tried to use the boy as a shield but sadly, Holmes had anticipated that move so he had ducked to her left quickly, managing to catch her around the waist. "... You see, I told them that they were talented and should use their talents. It is perfectly acceptable to steal darling, if you don't get caught."

However, she didn't react to his playful whispering how I thought she would. Usually, she would blush slightly but then quickly compose herself. This time, she simply smirked before taking her cane and gently tapping his right hand, watching her silk handkerchief flutter softly to the carpet. At this, Curly began to chuckle before patting the detective on his shoulder.

"Looks like you're losin' your touch sir. Don' it?" At this, Holmes huffed, pulling away to go begin composing once more but my sister merely smiled, holding something behind his back. Upon closer examination, I could see it was his pouch of tobacco which he kept in the breast pocket of his jacket.

"Shame on you Sherlock. I would have expected you to feel me take this from your person." she taunted, waving it a few inches from his nose with a triumphant air about her.

"See sir? Mother's a natural."

"Why, thank you Curly..." she thanked, inclining her head in his direction while returning the leather pouch back to it's original owner. "However, we don't steal unless it's to help prove a point or solve a case. Am I understood young man?"

"B-But mother..."

"You are very aware by now that pouting doesn't work on me for I get enough of it from the detective, do I not?" Sighing, the young lad accepted defeat.

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_**Hope you like it!**_

_**Please review! X x x**_

_**Love you all.**_

_**So, Do you like it? Do you hate it? Do you want faster updates? Do you want me to just delete the story and crawl back into my hole? Tell me by dropping a review in the little box down there**_

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**V**


	8. Thor Bridge : Chapter One

Somewhere in the vaults of the bank of Cox and Co., at Charing Cross, there is a travel-worn and battered tin dispatch box with my name, John H. Watson, M. D., Late Indian Army, painted upon the lid. It is crammed with papers, nearly all of which are records of cases to illustrate the curious problems which Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Luna Watson had at various times to examine. Some, and not the least interesting, were complete failures, and as such will hardly bear narrating, since no final explanation is forthcoming. A problem without a solution may interest the student, but can hardly fail to annoy the casual reader.

Among these unfinished tales is that of Mr. James Phillimore, who, stepping back into his own house to get his umbrella, was never more seen in this world.

No less remarkable is that of the cutter Alicia, which sailed one spring morning into a small patch of mist from where she never again emerged, nor was anything further ever heard of herself and her crew.

A third case worthy of note is that of Isadora Persano, the well-known journalist and duellist, who was found stark staring mad with a match box in front of him which contained a remarkable worm said to be unknown to science.

Apart from these unfathomed cases, there are some which involve the secrets of private families to an extent which would mean consternation in many exalted quarters if it were thought possible that they might find their way into print. I need not say that such a breach of confidence is unthinkable, and that these records will be separated and destroyed now that my friend has time to turn his energies to the matter. There remain a considerable residue of cases of greater or less interest which I might have edited before had I not feared to give the public a surfeit which might react upon the reputation of the man whom above all others I revere. In some I was myself concerned and can speak as an eye-witness, while in others I was either not present or played so small a part that they could only be told as by a third person. The following narrative is drawn from my own experience.

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It was a wild morning in October, and I observed as I was dressing how the last remaining leaves were being whirled from the solitary plane tree which graces the yard behind our house. I descended to breakfast prepared to find my companion in depressed spirits, for, like all great artists, he was easily impressed by his surroundings. I also expected to find my sister attempting to cheer him up like she had taken to doing, giving him nonsense riddles or sequences of numbers which seemed unrelated to me yet Sherlock managed to speak the following digits.

On the contrary, I found that he had nearly finished his meal and that his mood was particularly bright and joyous with that somewhat sinister cheerfulness which was characteristic of his lighter moments. By his side was my sister, her eyes scanning the morning paper while she took small sips from her tea cup.

"You have a case, Holmes?" I remarked.

"The faculty of deduction is certainly contagious, Watson," he answered. "It has enabled you to probe my secret. Yes, I have a case. After a month of trivialities and stagnation the wheels move once more."

"Might I share it?"

"There is little to share," he started but Luna quickly cut in, her eyes fixated on mine.

"But we may discuss it when you have eaten the two hard-boiled eggs with which our new cook had favoured us."

"Their condition may not be unconnected with the copy of the Family Herald which I observed yesterday upon the hall-table. Even so trivial a matter as cooking an egg demands an attention which is conscious of the passage of time and incompatible with the love romance in that excellent periodical." Holmes finished, his hand casually moving to rest on my sister's which brought a smile to her face as she gazed at him, a softness in them that was reserved for only me, him, Mrs Hudson and the Baker Street Irregulars.

A quarter of an hour later the table had been cleared and we were face to face. He had drawn a letter from his pocket.

"You have heard of Neil Gibson, the Gold King?" he said.

"You mean the American Senator?"

"Well, he was once Senator for some Western state, but is better known as the greatest gold-mining magnate in the world."

"Yes, I know of him. He has surely lived in England for some time. His name is very familiar."

"Yes, he bought a considerable estate in Hampshire some five years ago. Possibly you have already heard of the tragic end of his wife?"

"Of course. I remember it now. That is why the name is familiar. But I really know nothing of the details."

Holmes waved his hand towards some papers which rested on Luna's lap, her finger skimming the printed words as we spoke. "I had no idea that the case was coming my way or I should have had my extracts ready which would explain why my darling is currently collecting them for me," he said. "The fact is that the problem, though exceedingly sensational, appeared to present no difficulty. The interesting personality of the accused does not obscure the clearness of the evidence. That was the view taken by the coroner's jury and also in the police-court proceedings. It is now referred to the Assizes at Winchester. I fear it is a thankless business. I can be given facts, Watson, but I cannot change them. Unless some entirely new and unexpected ones come to light I do not see what my client can hope for."

"Your client?"

"Ah, I forgot I had not told you."

"Don't mind him John, he's evolved a habit of telling a story backwards."

"But it's a habit I have taken from your dear brother my love. Here Watson, you had best read this first."

The letter which he handed to me, written in a bold, masterful hand, ran as follows:

CLARIDGE'S HOTEL,  
October 3rd.  
DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES:  
I can't see the best woman God ever made go to her death without doing all that is possible to save her. I can't explain things - I can't even try to explain them, but I know beyond all doubt that Miss Dunbar is innocent. You know the facts - who doesn't? It has been the gossip of the country. And never a voice raised for her! It's the damned injustice of it all that makes me crazy. That woman has a heart that wouldn't let her kill a fly. Well, I'll come at eleven to-morrow and see if you can get some ray of light in the dark. Maybe I have a clue and don't know it. Anyhow, all I know and all I have and all I am are for your use if only you can save her. If ever in your life you showed your powers, put them now into this case.  
Yours faithfully,  
J. NEIL GIBSON.

"There you have it," said Sherlock Holmes, knocking out the ashes of his after-breakfast pipe and slowly refilling it. "That is the gentleman I await. As to the story, you have hardly time to master all these papers, so I must give it to you in a nutshell if you are to take an intelligent interest in the proceedings. This man is the greatest financial power in the world, and a man, as I understand, of most violent and formidable character. He married a wife, the victim of this tragedy, of whom I know nothing save that she was past her prime, which was the more unfortunate as a very attractive governess superintended the education of two young children."

"Those are the three people concerned, and the scene is a grand old house, the centre of a historical English state. Then as to the tragedy. The wife was found in the grounds nearly half a mile from the house, late at night, clad in her dinner dress, with a shawl over her shoulders and a revolver bullet through her brain." my sister continued, placing the newspaper down.

"No weapon was found near her and there was no local clue as to the murder. No weapon near her, Watson - mark that! The crime seems to have been committed late in the evening, and the body was found by a gamekeeper about eleven o'clock, when it was examined by the police and by a doctor before being carried up to the house. Is this too condensed, or can you follow it clearly?"

"It is all very clear. But why suspect the governess?"

"Well, in the first place there is some very direct evidence. A revolver with one discharged chamber and a calibre which corresponded with the bullet was found on the floor of her wardrobe." My sister said though Sherlock's eyes fixed as he repeated the broken words.

"On - the - floor - of - her - wardrobe." Then he sank into silence, and I saw that some train of thought had been set moving which I should be foolish to interrupt.

Suddenly with a start he emerged into brisk life once more. "Yes, Watson, it was found. Pretty damning, eh? So the two juries thought. Then the dead woman had a note upon her making an appointment at that very place and signed by the governess. How's that? Finally there is the motive. Senator Gibson is an attractive person. If his wife dies, who more likely to succeed her than the young lady who had already by all accounts received pressing attentions from her employer? Love, fortune, power, all depending upon one middle aged life. Ugly, Watson - very ugly!"

"Yes, indeed, Holmes."

"Nor could she actually prove an alibi. On the contrary, she had to admit that she was down near Thor bridge – the scene of such a tragedy – about that hour. She couldn't deny it either, for some passing villager had seen her there." Luna added, shaking her head a little which caused Sherlock to look in her direction, his gaze locking with hers for a few brief seconds.

"That really seems final." I interjected, forcing them to look away.

"And yet, Watson - and yet! This bridge - a single broad span of stone with balustraded sides - carries the drive over the narrowest part of a long, deep, reed-girt sheet of water. Thor Mere it is called. In the mouth of the bridge lay the dead woman. Such are the main facts. But here, if I mistake not, is our client, considerably before his time."

Billy had opened the door, but the name which he announced was an unexpected one. Mr. Marlow Bates was a stranger to both of us. He was a thin, nervous wisp of a man with frightened eyes and a twitching, hesitating manner - a man whom my own professional eye would judge to be on the brink of an absolute nervous breakdown.

"You seem quite agitated, Mr Bates."

"I must agree with my wife sir, pray sit down. I fear I can only give you a short time however, for I have an appointment at eleven."

"I know you have," our visitor gasped, shooting out short sentences like a man who is out of breath. "Mr. Gibson is coming. Mr. Gibson is my employer. I am manager of his estate. Mr. Holmes, he is a villain - an infernal villain."

"Strong language, Mr. Bates."

"I have to be emphatic, Mr. Holmes, for the time is so limited. I would not have him find me here for the world. He is almost due now. But I was so situated that I could not come earlier. His secretary, Mr. Ferguson, only told me this morning of his appointment with you."

"And you are his manager?"

"I have given him notice. In a couple of weeks I shall have shaken off his accursed slavery. A hard man, Mr. Holmes, hard to all about him. Those public charities are a screen to cover his private iniquities. But his wife was his chief victim. He was brutal to her - yes, sir, brutal! How she came by her death I do not know, but I am sure that he had made her life a misery to her. She was a creature of the tropics, a Brazilian by birth, as no doubt you know."

"No, it had escaped me."

"Tropical by birth and tropical by nature. A child of the sun and of passion. She had loved him as such women can love, but when her own physical charms had faded - I am told that they once were great - there was nothing to hold him. We all liked her and felt for her and hated him for the way that he treated her. But he is plausible and cunning. That is all I have to say to you. Don't take him at his face value. There is more behind. Now I'll go. No, no, don't detain me! He is almost due."

With a frightened look at the clock our strange visitor literally ran to the door and disappeared.

"Well, Mr Gibson seems to have the very loyalist of households, does he not?" My sister asked, smiling slightly.

"Yet the warning is a useful one, and now we can only wait till the man himself appears."

* * *

_**Hope you like it!**_

_**Please review! X x x**_

_**Love you all.**_

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	9. Thor Bridge: Chapter Two

Sharp at the hour we heard a heavy step upon the stairs, and the famous millionaire was shown into the room by my little sister. As I looked upon him I understood not only the fears and dislike of his manager but also the execrations which so many business rivals have heaped upon his head. If I were a sculptor and desired to idealize the successful man of affairs, iron of nerve and leathery of conscience, I should choose Mr. Neil Gibson as my model.

His tall, gaunt, craggy figure had a suggestion of hunger and rapacity. An Abraham Lincoln keyed to base uses instead of high ones would give some idea of the man. His face might have been chiselled in granite, hard-set, craggy, remorseless, with deep lines upon it, the scars of many a crisis. Cold gray eyes, looking shrewdly out from under bristling brows, surveyed us each in turn.

He bowed in perfunctory fashion as Holmes mentioned my name before pressing a, somewhat, lingering kiss on Luna's knuckles who offered a false smile then slyly slipped her hand from his hold with an innocent sounding giggle. After she returned to the side of my dearest friend, the man, with a masterful air of possession, drew a chair up to my companion and seated himself with his bony knees almost touching him.

"Let me say right here, Mr. Holmes," he began, "that money is nothing to me in this case. You can burn it if it's any use in lighting you to the truth. This woman is innocent and this woman has to be cleared, and it's up to you to do it. Name your figure!"

"My professional charges are upon a fixed scale," said Holmes coldly. "I do not vary them, save when I remit them altogether."

"Well, if dollars make no difference to you, think of the reputation. If you pull this off every paper in England and America will be booming you. You'll be the talk of two continents."

"Thank you, Mr. Gibson, I do not think that I am in need of booming. It may surprise you to know that I prefer to work anonymously, and that it is the problem itself which attracts me. But we are wasting time. Let us get down to the facts."

"I think that you will find all the main ones in the press reports. I don't know that I can add anything which will help you. But if there is anything you would wish more light upon -well, I am here to give it."

"Well, there is just one point."

"What is it?"

"What were the exact relations between you and Miss Dunbar?"

The Gold King gave a violent start and half rose from his chair. Then his massive calm came back to him.

"I suppose you are within your rights - and maybe doing your duty - in asking such a question, Mr. Holmes."

"We will agree to suppose so," said Holmes.

"Then I can assure you that our relations were entirely and always those of an employer towards a young lady whom he never conversed with, or ever saw, save when she was in the company of his children."

Holmes rose from his chair.

"I am a rather busy man, Mr. Gibson," said he, "and I have no time or taste for aimless conversations. I wish you good morning."

Our visitor had risen also, and his great loose figure towered above Holmes. There was an angry gleam from under those bristling brows and a tinge of colour in the sallow cheeks.

"What the devil do you mean by this, Mr. Holmes? Do you dismiss my case?"

"Well, Mr. Gibson, at least I dismiss you. I should have thought my words were plain."

"Plain enough, but what's at the back of it? Raising the price on me, or afraid to tackle it, or what? I've a right to a plain answer."

"Well, perhaps you have," said Holmes. "I'll give you one. This case is quite sufficiently complicated to start with without the further difficulty of false information."

"Meaning that I lie."

"Well, I was trying to express it as delicately as I could, but if you insist upon the word I will not contradict you."

I sprang to my feet, for the expression upon the millionaire's face was fiendish in its intensity, and he had raised his great knotted fist. Holmes smiled languidly and reached his hand out for his pipe while the other held my sister's wrist tightly. I hadn't realised what she had done until I saw her walking stick held tightly in the hand, her fist trembling in his hold.

"Don't be noisy, Mr. Gibson. I find that after breakfast even the smallest argument is unsettling. I suggest that a stroll in the morning air and a little quiet thought will be greatly to your advantage."

With an effort the Gold King mastered his fury. I could not but admire him, for by a supreme self-command he had turned in a minute from a hot flame of anger to a frigid and contemptuous indifference. Upon seeing this, Luna seemed to visibly calm down, her body relaxing within a few seconds until the detective released her, choosing to pull her into his lap instead.

"Thank you love but I fear your excellent fencing skills shall not be needed today." he murmured softly, just loud enough for me to hear.

"Must you forever aggravate our guests in some way or another?" she jested lightly, resting her head lightly against his shoulder which brought a small smile to his face.

"Well, it's your choice. I guess you know how to run your own business. I can't make you touch the case against your will. You've done yourself no good this morning, Mr. Holmes, for I have broken stronger men than you. No man ever crossed me and was the better for it." Mr Gibson interrupted, his voice remaining monotone and calm.

"So many have said so, and yet here I am," said Holmes, smiling. "Well, good-morning, Mr. Gibson. You have a good deal yet to learn."

Our visitor made a noisy exit, but Holmes smoked in imperturbable silence with dreamy eyes fixed upon the ceiling.

"Any views, Watson?" he asked at last.

"Well, Holmes, I must confess that when I consider that this is a man who would certainly brush any obstacle from his path, and when I remember that his wife may have been an obstacle and an object of dislike, as that man Bates plainly told us, it seems to me -"

"Exactly. And to me also."

"But what were his exact relations with the governess? How did you discover them?"

"Bluff, Watson, bluff! When I considered the passionate, unconventional, unbusiness like tone of his letter and contrasted it with his self-contained manner and appearance, it was pretty clear that there was some deep emotion which centred upon the accused woman rather than upon the victim. We've got to understand the exact relations of those three people if we are to reach the truth."

"You saw the front attack which Sherlock made upon him, and how imperturbably he received it."

"Then I bluffed him by giving him the impression that I was absolutely certain, when in reality I was only extremely suspicious."

"Perhaps he will come back?" I inquired.

"He is sure to come back. He must come back. He can't leave it where it is. Ha! isn't that a ring? Yes, there is his footstep. Well, Mr. Gibson, I was just saying to Dr. Watson and my wife that you were somewhat overdue."

The Gold King had re-entered the room in a more chastened mood than he had left it. His wounded pride still showed in his resentful eyes, but his common sense had shown him that he must yield if he would attain his end.

"I've been thinking it over, Mr. Holmes, and I feel that I have been hasty in taking your remarks amiss. You are justified in getting down to the facts, whatever they may be, and I think the more of you for it. I can assure you, however, that the relations between Miss Dunbar and me don't really touch this case."

"That is for the good detective to decide, is it not?" Luna asked, a somewhat smug look on her face. It seemed to me that she knew the importance of the case to him and so was using it to casually annoy him further, something she enjoyed doing to people on occasion, depending on how they irritated her of course. If one made her reach for her blade in fear of Holmes becoming hurt, she wasn't quick to forgive and forget.

"Yes, I guess that is so. He's like a surgeon who wants every symptom before he can give his diagnosis."

"And yet, isn't that the best approach to an illness? Without all the symptoms, the ailment could be mislabelled and a wrong treatment could be detrimental to your health." She continued.

"Exactly. That expresses it. And it is only a patient who has an object in deceiving his surgeon who would conceal the facts of his case." Holmes said, seeming to cut the potential argument before it could truly start but the small glint in his eyes spoke volumes about whom he thought would win.

"That may be so, but you will admit, Mr. Holmes, that most men would shy off a bit when they are asked point-blank what their relations with a woman may be - if there is really some serious feeling in the case. I guess most men have a little private reserve of their own in some corner of their souls where they don't welcome intruders. And you burst suddenly into it. But the object excuses you, since it was to try and save her. Well, the stakes are down and the reserve open, and you can explore where you will. What is it you want?"

"The truth."

The Gold King paused for a moment as one who marshals his thoughts. His grim, deep-lined face had become even sadder and more grave.

"I can give it to you in a very few words, Mr. Holmes," said he at last. "There are some things that are painful as well as difficult to say, so I won't go deeper than is needful. I met my wife when I was gold-hunting in Brazil. Maria Pinto was the daughter of a government official at Manaos, and she was very beautiful. I was young and ardent in those days, but even now, as I look back with colder blood and a more critical eye, I can see that she was rare and wonderful in her beauty. It was a deep rich nature, too, passionate, whole-hearted, tropical, ill-balanced, very different from the American women whom I had known. Well, to make a long story short, I loved her and I married her. It was only when the romance had passed - and it lingered for years - that I realized that we had nothing - absolutely nothing - in common. My love faded. If hers had faded also it might have been easier. But you know the wonderful way of women! Do what I might, nothing could turn her from me. If I have been harsh to her, even brutal as some have said, it has been because I knew that if I could kill her love, or if it turned to hate, it would be easier for both of us. But nothing changed her. She adored me in those English woods as she had adored me twenty years ago on the banks of the Amazon. Do what I might, she was as devoted as ever."

"A woman's heart is a difficult thing to turn sir, believe me when I tell you that and it fills me with pity, to hear that you were brutal in attempts to escape the holds of her love. You didn't deserve such devotion." My sister murmured calmly though her eyes flickered up to Holmes' and in an instant, I knew what she was thinking about.

You see, after the incident with being shot in her left hand, Sherlock had began to distance himself from her. Of course, I was informed of his plan, hoping to push her away from him and, in turn, away from harm but my sister was a stubborn woman who wouldn't allow him to choose her fate. No matter how desperate his attempts got, she refused to leave.

"And Miss Grace Dunbar?" I asked, trying to get my sister's mind back onto the case.

"She answered our advertisement and became governess to our two children. Perhaps you have seen her portrait in the papers. The whole world has proclaimed that she also is a very beautiful woman. Now, I make no pretence to be more moral than my neighbours, and I will admit to you that I could not live under the same roof with such a woman and in daily contact with her without feeling a passionate regard for her. Do you blame me, Mr. Holmes?"

"I do not blame you for feeling it. I should blame you if you expressed it, since this young lady was, in a sense, under your protection."

"Well, maybe so," said the millionaire, though for a moment the reproof had brought the old angry gleam into his eyes. "I'm not pretending to be any better than I am. I guess all my life I've been a man that reached out his hand for what he wanted, and I never wanted anything more than the love and possession of that woman. I told her so."

"Oh, you did, did you?"

Holmes could look very formidable when he was moved.

"I said to her that if I could marry her I would, but that it was out of my power. I said that money was no object and that all I could do to make her happy and comfortable would be done."

"Very generous, I am sure," said Holmes with a sneer.

"See here, Mr. Holmes. I came to you on a question of evidence, not on a question of morals. I'm not asking for your criticism."

"It is only for the young lady's sake that I touch your case at all," said Holmes sternly. "I don't know that anything she is accused of is really worse than what you have yourself admitted, that you have tried to ruin a defenceless girl who was under your roof. Some of you rich men have to be taught that all the world cannot be bribed into condoning your offences."

To my surprise the Gold King took the reproof with equanimity.

"That's how I feel myself about it now. I thank God that my plans did not work out as I intended. She would have none of it, and she wanted to leave the house instantly."

"Why did she not?"

"Well, in the first place, others were dependent upon her, and it was no light matter for her to let them all down by sacrificing her living. When I had sworn - as I did - that she should never be molested again, she consented to remain. But there was another reason. She knew the influence she had over me, and that it was stronger than any other influence in the world. She wanted to use it for good."

"How?"

"Well, she knew something of my affairs. They are large, Mr. Holmes - large beyond the belief of an ordinary man. I can make or break - and it is usually break. It wasn't individuals only. It was communities, cities, even nations. Business is a hard game, and the weak go to the wall. I played the game for all it was worth. I never squealed myself, and I never cared if the other fellow squealed."

"But she viewed it in a completely different light." Luna guessed, earning a nod from the man.

"I guess she was right. She believed and said that a fortune for one man that was more than he needed should not be built on ten thousand ruined men who were left without the means of life. That was how she saw it, and I guess she could see past the dollars to something that was more lasting. She found that I listened to what she said, and she believed she was serving the world by influencing my actions. So she stayed - and then this came along."

"Can you throw any light upon that?"

The Gold King paused for a minute or more, his head sunk in his hands, lost in deep thought.

"It's very black against her. I can't deny that. And women lead an inward life and may do things beyond the judgement of a man. At first I was so rattled and taken aback that I was ready to think she had been led away in some extraordinary fashion that was clean against her usual nature. One explanation came into my head. I give it to you, Mr. Holmes, for what it is worth. There is no doubt that my wife was bitterly jealous. There is a soul-jealousy that can be as frantic as any body-jealousy, and though my wife had no cause - and I think she understood this - for the latter, she was aware that this English girl exerted an influence upon my mind and my acts that she herself never had. It was an influence for good, but that did not mend the matter. She was crazy with hatred and the heat of the Amazon was always in her blood. She might have planned to murder Miss Dunbar - or we will say to threaten her with a gun and so frighten her into leaving us. Then there might have been a scuffle and the gun gone off and shot the woman who held it."

"That possibility had already occurred to me," said Holmes. "Indeed, it is the only obvious alternative to deliberate murder."

"But she utterly denies it."

"Well, that is not final - is it? One can understand that a woman placed in so awful a position might hurry home still in her bewilderment holding the revolver. She might even throw it down among her clothes, hardly knowing what she was doing, and when it was found she might try to lie her way out by a total denial, since all explanation was impossible. What is against such a supposition?"

"Miss Dunbar herself."

"Well, perhaps."

Holmes looked at his watch. "I have no doubt we can get the necessary permits this morning and reach Winchester by the evening train. When I have seen this young lady it is very possible that I may be of more use to you in the matter, though I cannot promise that my conclusions will necessarily be such as you desire."

* * *

_**Hope you like it!**_

_**Please review! X x x**_

_**Love you all.**_

_**So, Do you like it? Do you hate it? Do you want faster updates? Do you want me to just delete the story and crawl back into my hole? Tell me by dropping a review in the little box down there**_

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**V**


	10. Thor Bridge : Chapter Three

_**As always, I am sorry for not updating regularly though I do have a few pieces of good news...**_

_**I've finally finished high school! An exciting time, I know haha. **_

_**Of course, this means I have more time for writing but that still has to be shared with my volunteer work, the writing of my own novels and, eventually, my job which I should be starting sometime in the next five or six weeks. **_

_**However, I will still make sure to update and, if not at regular intervals, to catch up for the weeks I haven't.**_

* * *

_I'd like to dedicate this chapter to:_

_sre16animelover (I'm glad that you love the couple. I shall admit, I was scared that no one would like Luna as a character, especially when it comes to winning the heart of our favourite detective but I'm so happy to see that people love her as much as I do.)_

_AP (Thank you for taking the time to review, I really appreciate it.)_

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_**I hope you all enjoy the next few chapters...**_

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There was some delay in the official pass, and instead of reaching Winchester that day we went down to Thor Place, the Hampshire estate of Mr. Neil Gibson. He did not accompany us himself, but we had the address of Sergeant Coventry, of the local police, who had first examined into the affair. He was a tall, thin, cadaverous man, with a secretive and mysterious manner which conveyed the idea that he knew or suspected a very great deal more than he dared say. He had a trick, too, of suddenly sinking his voice to a whisper as if he had come upon something of vital importance, though the information was usually commonplace enough. Behind these tricks of manner he soon showed himself to be a decent, honest fellow who was not too proud to admit that he was out of his depth and would welcome any help.

"Anyhow, I'd rather have you than Scotland Yard, Mr. Holmes," said he. "If the Yard gets called into a case, then the local loses all credit for success and may be blamed for failure. Now, you play straight, so I've heard."

"I need not appear in the matter at all," said Holmes to the evident relief of our melancholy acquaintance. "If I can clear it up I don't ask to have my name mentioned."

"Well, it's very handsome of you, I am sure. And your friend, Dr. Watson, can be trusted, I know but what about the woman?"

"Apologises sir , for not making introductions sooner. Sergeant, this is my wife Mrs Luna Holmes and the sister of Dr Watson so, though we're probably biased, she is more than worthy of your trust on this matter." Holmes explained, his hand moving to take hers while the Sergeant stared, his eyes wide.

"I'm sorry sir. I wasn't aware."

"Well, we tend to keep it somewhat hidden from public eye as it's dangerous, especially with the position I'm in. My occupation, though highly enjoyable, comes with an equally high level of risk which I attempt to protect her from."

"Very well. Now, Mr. Holmes, as we walk down to the place there is one question I should like to ask you. I'd breathe it to no soul but you." He looked round as though he hardly dare utter the words. "Don't you think there might be a case against Mr. Neil Gibson himself?"

"I have been considering that."

"You've not seen Miss Dunbar. She is a wonderful fine woman in every way. He may well have wished his wife out of the road. And these Americans are readier with pistols than our folk are. It was his pistol, you know."

"Was that clearly made out?"

"Yes, sir. It was one of a pair that he had."

"One of a pair? Where is the other?"

"Well, the gentleman has a lot of firearms of one sort and another. We never quite matched that particular pistol - but the box was made for two."

"If it was one of pair, you should surely be able to match it." Luna told them.

"Well, we have them all laid out at the house if you would care to look them over."

"Later, perhaps. I think we will walk down together and have a look at the scene of the tragedy." Sherlock interrupted, cutting his 'wife' off as to avoid her from snapping at the sergeant.

This conversation had taken place in the little front room of Sergeant Coventry's humble cottage which served as the local police-station. A walk of half a mile or so across a wind-swept heath, all gold and bronze with the fading ferns, brought us to a side-gate opening into the grounds of the Thor Place estate. A path led us through the pheasant preserves, and then from a clearing we saw the widespread, half-timbered house, half Tudor and half Georgian, upon the crest of the hill. Beside us there was a long, reedy pool, constricted in the centre where the main carriage drive passed over a stone bridge, but swelling into small lakes on either side. Our guide paused at the mouth of this bridge, and he pointed to the ground.

"That was where Mrs. Gibson's body lay. I marked it by that stone."

"I understand that you were there before it was moved?"

"Yes, they sent for me at once."

"Who did?"

"Mr. Gibson himself. The moment the alarm was given and he had rushed down with others from the house, he insisted that nothing should be moved until the police should arrive."

"That was sensible. I gathered from the newspaper report that the shot was fired from close quarters."

"Yes, sir, very close."

"Near the right temple?"

"Just behind it, sir."

"How did the body lie?"

"On the back, sir. No trace of a struggle. No marks. No weapon. The short note from Miss Dunbar was clutched in her left hand."

"Clutched, you say?"

"Yes, sir, we could hardly open the fingers."

"That is of great importance. It excludes the idea that anyone could have placed the note there after death in order to furnish a false clue. Dear me! The note, as I remember, was quite short:

"I will be at Thor Bridge at nine o'clock."  
G. DUNBAR.

Was that not so?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did Miss Dunbar admit writing it?"

"Yes, sir."

"What was her explanation?" She asked again, rubbing her hands together in an attempt to keep them warm. Seeing this, Sherlock slipped his leather gloves off, handing them over to her with a wink. Smiling, Luna pulled them on with a small sigh at the warmth with waited there for her before taking hold of his hand.

"Her defence was reserved for the Assizes. She would say nothing."

"The problem is certainly a very interesting one. The point of the letter is very obscure, is it not?"

"Well, sir," said the guide, "it seemed, if I may be so bold as to say so, the only really clear point in the whole case."

Holmes shook his head.

"Granting that the letter is genuine and was really written, it was certainly received some time before - say one hour or two. Why, then, was this lady still clasping it in her left hand? Why should she carry it so carefully? She did not need to refer to it in the interview. Does it not seem remarkable?"

"Well, sir, as you put it, perhaps it does."

"I think I should like to sit quietly for a few minutes and think it out." He seated himself upon the stone ledge of the bridge, and I could see his quick gray eyes darting their questioning glances in every direction. Suddenly he sprang up again and ran across to the opposite parapet, whipped his lens from his pocket, and began to examine the stonework.

"This is curious," said he.

"Yes, sir, we saw the chip on the ledge. I expect it's been done by some passer-by."

The stonework was gray, but at this one point it showed white for a space not larger than a sixpence. When examined closely one could see that the surface was chipped as by a sharp blow.

"It took some violence to do that," said Holmes thoughtfully. With his cane he struck the ledge several times without leaving a mark. "Yes, it was a hard knock. In a curious place, too. It was not from above but from below, for you see that it is on the lower edge of the parapet."

"But it is at least fifteen feet from the body."

"Yes, it is fifteen feet from the body. It may have absolutely nothing to do with the matter, but it is a point worth noting."

"I agree with my wife sir however, I do not think that we have anything more to learn here. There were no footsteps, you say?"

"The ground was iron hard, sir. There were no traces at all."

"Then we can go. We will go up to the house first and look over these weapons of which you speak. Then we shall get on to Winchester, for I should desire to see Miss Dunbar before we go farther."

Mr. Neil Gibson had not returned from town, but we saw in the house the neurotic Mr. Bates who had called upon us in the morning. He showed us with a sinister relish the formidable array of firearms of various shapes and sizes which his employer had accumulated in the course of an adventurous life.

"Mr. Gibson has his enemies, as anyone would expect who knew him and his methods," said he. "He sleeps with a loaded revolver in the drawer beside his bed. He is a man of violence, sir, and there are times when all of us are afraid of him. I am sure that the poor lady who has passed was often terrified."

"Did you ever witness physical violence towards her?" Luna inquired, her eyes casually scanning a few weapons with distaste, her hand tightening it's hold on her cane. It wasn't a hidden fact that she preferred to fight with blades as they involved practise. _"Anybody can fire a revolver John because all it takes is a finger and an eye. When it comes to handling an sword or knives, you need to be as sharp as your weapon and quick to the wicket or you're done for."_

"No, I cannot say that. But I have heard words which were nearly as bad - words of cold, cutting contempt, even before the servants."

"Our millionaire does not seem to shine in private life," remarked Holmes as we made our way to the station. "Well, sweetheart, Watson, we have come on a good many facts, some of them new ones, and yet I seem some way from my conclusion. In spite of the very evident dislike which Mr. Bates has to his employer, I gather from him that when the alarm came he was undoubtedly in his library. Dinner was over at 8:30 and all was normal up to then. It is true that the alarm was somewhat late in the evening, but the tragedy certainly occurred about the hour named in the note. There is no evidence at all that Mr. Gibson had been out of doors since his return from town at five o'clock. On the other hand, Miss Dunbar, as I understand it, admits that she had made an appointment to meet Mrs. Gibson at the bridge. Beyond this she would say nothing, as her lawyer had advised her to reserve her defence. We have several very vital questions to ask that young lady, and my mind will not be easy until we have seen her. I must confess that the case would seem to me to be very black against her if it were not for one thing."

"And what is that, Holmes?"

"Isn't it obvious John? He's speaking of the pistol which was found in Miss Dunbar's wardrobe." Luna shared, reaching down to take hold of the detective's hand. A small smile crept onto his face as he took hold of her hand, bringing them into his lap so he could indeed fiddle with her fingers, causing her to giggle softly at him before pressing a quick kiss to his lips which seemed to take him off guard briefly.

"Dear me, Holmes!" I cried, "that seemed to me to be the most damning incident of all."

"Not so, Watson. It had struck me even at my first perfunctory reading as very strange, and now that I am in closer touch with the case it is my only firm ground for hope. We must look for consistency. Where there is a want of it we must suspect deception."

"I hardly follow you."

"I must say Sherlock... You're being a little ominous today."

" Very well. Now Watson, suppose for a moment that we visualise your lovely sister in the character of a woman who, in a cold, premeditated fashion, is about to get rid of a rival."

"Why Holmes, do you have another woman I should know about?" She jested, smirking lightly but before she could joke any more, he pressed his lips against hers, his eyes closing on contact. Out of courtesy, I averted my eyes until I was sure they'd separated. As I've probably mentioned before, I didn't oppose their relationship but I still found it queer when they displayed their feelings so openly in front of me.

"Never pet. Are you aware how long it took me to train you? Having to train another woman who could never possibly compare? Not likely to happen in this century." He assured, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand so, in order to get him back on track, I carefully cleared my throat. "Ah yes, my apologises Watson. So, she has planned it. A note has been written. The victim had come. She has her weapon. The crime is done. It has been workmanlike and complete."

"I think I understand you now love. If I had managed to carry out so crafty a crime, I wouldn't ruin my newly found reputation as a criminal by forgetting to fling my weapon into those adjacent reed-beds which would forever keep it hidden. However, I'd have had to be careful in order to carry it home and put it into my own wardrobe, they very first place which would be searched."

"Exactly. Not many would call you a schemer dear..." This statement made both me and my sister chuckle, slowly drawing the detective in before he was forced to change. " Not many would call you an _experienced _schemer dear and yet, I could not picture you doing anything as crude as that."

"How about in the excitement of the moment " I suggested but that was quickly shot down.

"No, no, Watson, I will not admit that it is possible. Where a crime is cooly premeditated, then the means of covering it are coolly premeditated also. I hope, therefore, that we are in the presence of a serious misconception."

"But there is so much to explain."

"Well, we shall set about explaining it. When once your point of view is changed, the very thing which was so damning becomes a clue to the truth. For example, there is this revolver. Miss Dunbar disclaims all knowledge of it. On our new theory she is speaking truth when she says so. Therefore, it was placed in her wardrobe. Who placed it there? Someone who wished to incriminate her. Was not that person the actual criminal? You see how we come at once upon a most fruitful line of inquiry."

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	11. Thor Bridge : Chapter Four

We were compelled to spend the night at Winchester, as the formalities had not yet been completed, but next morning, in the company of Mr. Joyce Cummings, the rising barrister who was entrusted with the defence, we were allowed to see the young lady in her cell. I had expected from all that we had heard to see a beautiful woman, but I can never forget the effect which Miss Dunbar produced upon me. It was no wonder that even the masterful millionaire had found in her something more powerful than himself - something which could control and guide him. One felt, too, as one looked at the strong, clear-cut, and yet sensitive face, that even should she be capable of some impetuous deed, none the less there was an innate nobility of character which would make her influence always for the good. She was a brunette, tall, with a noble figure and commanding presence, but her dark eyes had in them the appealing, helpless expression of the hunted creature who feels the nets around it, but can see no way out from the toils. Now, as she realized the presence and the help of my famous friend, there came a touch of colour in her wan cheeks and a light of hope began to glimmer in the glance which she turned upon us.

"Perhaps Mr. Neil Gibson has told you something of what occurred between us?" she asked in a low, agitated voice.

"Yes," Holmes answered but my sister quickly cut in.

"You need not pain yourself by entering into that part of this story darling."

"My wife is right. After seeing you, I am prepared to accept Mr. Gibson's statement both as to the influence which you had over him and as to the innocence of your relations with him. But why was the whole situation not brought out in court?"

"It seemed to me incredible that such a charge could be sustained. I thought that if we waited the whole thing must clear itself up without our being compelled to enter into painful details of the inner life of the family. But I understand that far from clearing it has become even more serious."

"My dear young lady," cried Holmes earnestly, "I beg you to have no illusions upon the point. Mr. Cummings here would assure you that all the cards are at present against us, and that we must do everything that is possible if we are to win clear. It would be a cruel deception to pretend that you are not in very great danger. Give me all the help you can, then, to get at the truth."

"I will conceal nothing."

"Tell us, then, of your true relations with Mr. Gibson's wife."

"She hated me, Mr. Holmes. She hated me with all the fervour of her tropical nature. She was a woman who would do nothing by halves, and the measure of her love for her husband was the measure also of her hatred for me. It is probable that she misunderstood our relations. I would not wish to wrong her, but she loved so vividly in a physical sense that she could hardly understand the mental, and even spiritual, tie which held her husband to me, or imagine that it was only my desire to influence his power to good ends which kept me under his roof. I can see now that I was wrong. Nothing could justify me in remaining where I was a cause of unhappiness, and yet it is certain that the unhappiness would have remained even if I had left the house."

"Now, Miss Dunbar," said Holmes, "I beg you to tell us exactly what occurred that evening."

"I can tell you the truth so far as I know it, Mr. Holmes, but I am in a position to prove nothing, and there are points - the most vital points - which I can neither explain nor can I imagine any explanation."

"If you will find the facts, perhaps others may find the explanation."

"With regard, then, to my presence at Thor Bridge that night, I received a note from Mrs. Gibson in the morning. It lay on the table of the schoolroom, and it may have been left there by her own hand. It implored me to see her there after dinner, said she had something important to say to me, and asked me to leave an answer on the sundial in the garden, as she desired no one to be in our confidence. I saw no reason for such secrecy, but I did as she asked, accepting the appointment. She asked me to destroy her note and I burned it in the schoolroom grate. She was very much afraid of her husband, who treated her with a harshness for which I frequently reproached him, and I could only imagine that she acted in this way because she did not wish him to know of our interview."

"Yet, she kept your reply very carefully?" Luna asked, looking at the younger lady with kindness and curiosity in her eyes.

"Yes. I was surprised to hear that she had it in her hand when she died."

"Well, what happened then?" Sherlock inquired, shooting a knowing glance to my sister who briefly returned it, accompanied by the smallest of nods.

"I went down as I had promised. When I reached the bridge she was waiting for me. Never did I realize till that moment how this poor creature hated me. She was like a mad woman - indeed, I think she was a mad woman, subtly mad with the deep power of deception which insane people may have. How else could she have met me with unconcern every day and yet had so raging a hatred of me in her heart? I will not say what she said. She poured her whole wild fury out in burning and horrible words. I did not even answer - I could not. It was dreadful to see her. I put my hands to my ears and rushed away. When I left her she was standing, still shrieking out her curses at me, in the mouth of the bridge."

"Where she was afterwards found?"

"Within a few yards from the spot."

"And yet, presuming that she met her death shortly after you left her, you heard no shot?"

"No, I heard nothing. But, indeed, Mr. Holmes, I was so agitated and horrified by this terrible outbreak that I rushed to get back to the peace of my own room, and I was incapable of noticing anything which happened."

"You say that you returned to your room however, did you leave it again before the next morning?"

"Yes Mrs Holmes. I left when the alarm came that the poor creature had met her death. I ran out with the others."

"Did you happen to Mr. Gibson?"

"Yes, he had just returned from the bridge when I saw him. He had sent for the doctor and the police."

"Did he seem to you much perturbed?"

"Mr. Gibson is a very strong, self-contained man. I do not think that he would ever show his emotions on the surface. But I, who knew him so well, could see that he was deeply concerned."

"Then we come to the all-important point. This pistol that was found in your room. Had you ever seen it before?" the consultant detective asked, looking at her carefully.

"Never, I swear it."

"When was it found?"

"Next morning, when the police made their search."

"Among your clothes?"

"Yes, on the floor of my wardrobe under my dresses."

"You could not guess how long it had been there?"

"It had not been there the morning before."

"How do you know?"

"Because I tidied out the wardrobe."

"That is final. Then someone came into your room and placed the pistol there in order to inculpate you."

"It must have been so."

"And when?"

"It could only have been at meal-time, or else at the hours when I would be in the schoolroom with the children."

"As you were when you got the note?"

"Yes, from that time onward for the whole morning."

"Thank you, Miss Dunbar. Is there any other point which could help me in the investigation?"

"I can think of none."

"There was some sign of violence on the stonework of the bridge - a perfectly fresh chip just opposite the body. Could you suggest any possible explanation of that?"

"Surely it must be a mere coincidence."

"Curious, Miss Dunbar, very curious. Why should it appear at the very time of the tragedy, and why at the very place?"

"But what could have caused it? Only great violence could have such an effect."

Holmes did not answer her. His pale, eager face had suddenly assumed that tense, far-away expression which I had learned to associate with the supreme manifestation of his genius. So evident was the crisis in his mind that none of us dared to speak, and we sat, barrister, prisoner and myself, watching him in a concentrated and absorbed silence. A few feet away from us stood my sister, looking down at him with a smile and glint in her eyes. For a couple of moments, I shifted my gaze to her, watching her silently count down on her fingers. When it reached one, Sherlock suddenly sprang from his chair, vibrating with nervous energy and the pressing need for action.

"Come, Watson, come!" he cried, grabbing my sister's hand so he could practically drag her with him though she didn't seem to mind. Instead, she laughed loudly at some unknown joke.

"What is it, Mr. Holmes?"

"Never mind, my dear lady. You will hear from me, Mr. Cummings. With the help of the god of justice I will give you a case which will make England ring. You will get news by to-morrow, Miss Dunbar, and meanwhile take my assurance that the clouds are lifting and that I have every hope that the light of truth is breaking through."

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	12. Thor Bridge : Chapter Five

It was not a long journey from Winchester to Thor Place, but it was long to me in my impatience, while for Holmes it was evident that it seemed endless; for, in his nervous restlessness he could not sit still, but paced the carriage or drummed with his long, sensitive fingers upon the cushions beside him while Luna attempted to track him with her eyes.

Suddenly, however, as we neared our destination he seated himself opposite to me - we had a first-class carriage to ourselves - and laying a hand upon each of my knees he looked into my eyes with the peculiarly mischievous gaze which was characteristic of his more imp-like moods.

"Watson," said he, "I have some recollection that you go armed upon these excursions of ours."

It was as well for him that I did so, for he took little care for his own safety when his mind was once absorbed by a problem so that more than once my revolver had been a good friend in need. And, if the time had come when I had forgotten my firearm, my sister was always there with her trusted blade. I reminded him of the fact.

"Yes, yes, I am a little absent-minded in such matters. But have you your revolver on you?"

I produced it from my hip-pocket, a short, handy, but very serviceable little weapon. He undid the catch, shook out the cartridges, and examined it with care.

"It's heavy - remarkably heavy," said he.

"Yes, it is a solid bit of work."

He mused over it for a minute.

"Do you know, Watson," said he, "I believe your revolver is going to have a very intimate connection with the mystery which we are investigating."

"My dear Holmes, you are joking."

"No, Watson, I am very serious. There is a test before us. If the test comes off, all will be clear. And the test will depend upon the conduct of this little weapon. One cartridge out. Now we will replace the other five and put on the safety-catch. So! That increases the weight and makes it a better reproduction."

"Sherlock... He's not going to be very happy." My sister commented by his side but he quietened her by placing her on his lap, his arms tightly around her middle.

"If it helps settle a case, he will not care. Of that, I am certain."

I had no glimmer of what was in his mind, nor did he enlighten me, but sat lost in thought until we pulled up in the little Hampshire station. We secured a ramshackle trap, and in a quarter of an hour were at the house of our confidential friend, the sergeant.

"A clue, Mr. Holmes? What is it?"

"It all depends upon the behaviour of my brother's revolver."

"Here it is. Now, officer, can you give me ten yards of string?" Luckily for him, the village shop managed to provide a rather large ball of stout twine.

"I think that this is all we will need," said Holmes. "Now, if you please, we will get off on what I hope is the last stage of our journey."

The sun was setting and turning the rolling Hampshire moor into a wonderful autumnal panorama. The sergeant, with many critical and incredulous glances, which showed his deep doubts of the sanity of my companion and his 'wife' , lurched along beside us. As we approached the scene of the crime I could see that my friend under all his habitual coolness was in truth deeply agitated.

"Yes," he said in answer to my remark, "you have seen me miss my mark before, Watson. I have an instinct for such things, and yet it has sometimes played me false. It seemed a certainty when first it flashed across my mind in the cell at Winchester, but one drawback of an active mind is that one can always conceive alternative explanations which would make our scent a false one. And yet - and yet - Well, Watson, we can but try."

As he walked, he had my sister firmly tie one end of the string to the handle of my revolver. We had now reached the scene of the tragedy. With great care he marked out under the guidance of the policeman the exact spot where the body had been stretched. He then hunted among the heather and the ferns until he found a considerable stone. This he secured to the other end of his line of string, and he hung it over the parapet of the bridge so that it swung clear above the water. He then stood on the fatal spot, some distance from the edge of the bridge, with my revolver in his hand, the string being taut between the weapon and the heavy stone on the farther side.

"Now for it!" he cried.

At the words he raised the pistol to his head, and then let go his grip. In an instant it had been whisked away by the weight of the stone, had struck with a sharp crack against the parapet, and had vanished over the side into the water. It had hardly gone before Holmes was kneeling beside the stonework, and a joyous cry showed that he had found what he expected.

"Was there ever a more exact demonstration?" he cried. "See, Watson, your revolver has solved the problem!" As he spoke he pointed to a second chip of the exact size and shape of the first which had appeared on the under edge of the stone balustrade.

"We'll stay at the inn tonight," he continued as he rose and faced the astonished sergeant. "You will, of course, get a grappling-hook and you will easily restore my friend's revolver. You will also find beside it the revolver, string and weight with which this vindictive woman attempted to disguise her own crime and to fasten a charge of murder upon an innocent victim. You can let Mr. Gibson know that I will see him in the morning, when steps can be taken for Miss Dunbar's vindication."

Later that evening, we sat together, smoking our pipes in the village inn while my sister slumbered peacefully between me and Sherlock. It was obvious that the case had tired her so within a few minutes of sitting between us on the small settee, she had fallen into a undisturbed sleep, her head resting on my shoulder, just as it did when she was a child. Once he had checked her over, a habit which had developed itself since the 'red circle' case, he gave me a brief review of what had passed.

"I fear, Watson," said he, "that you will not improve any reputation which I may have acquired by adding the case of the Thor Bridge mystery to your annals. I have been sluggish in mind and wanting in that mixture of imagination and reality which is the basis of my art. I confess that the chip in the stonework was a sufficient clue to suggest the true solution, and that I blame myself for not having attained it sooner.

"It must be admitted that the workings of this unhappy woman's mind were deep and subtle, so that it was no very simple matter to unravel her plot. I do not think that in our adventures we have ever come across a stranger example of what perverted love can bring about. Whether Miss Dunbar was her rival in a physical or in a merely mental sense seems to have been equally unforgivable in her eyes. No doubt she blamed this innocent lady for all those harsh dealings and unkind words with which her husband tried to repel her too demonstrative affection. Her first resolution was to end her own life. Her second was to do it in such a way as to involve her victim in a fate which was worse far than any sudden death could be.

"We can follow the various steps quite clearly, and they show a remarkable subtlety of mind. A note was extracted very cleverly from Miss Dunbar which would make it appear that she had chosen the scene of the crime. In her anxiety that it should be discovered she somewhat overdid it by holding it in her hand to the last. This alone should have excited my suspicions earlier than it did.

"Then she took one of her husband's revolvers - there was, as you saw, an arsenal in the house - and kept it for her own use. A similar one she concealed that morning in Miss Dunbar's wardrobe after discharging one barrel, which she could easily do in the woods without attracting attention. She then went down to the bridge where she had contrived this exceedingly ingenious method for getting rid of her weapon. When Miss Dunbar appeared she used her last breath in pouring out her hatred, and then, when she was out of hearing, carried out her terrible purpose. Every link is now in its place and the chain is complete. The papers may ask why the mere was not dragged in the first instance, but it is easy to be wise after the event, and in any case the expanse of a reed-filled lake is no easy matter to drag unless you have a clear perception of what you are looking for and where. Well, Watson, we have helped a remarkable woman, and also a formidable man. Should they in the future join their forces, as seems not unlikely, the financial world may find that Mr. Neil Gibson has learned something in that schoolroom of sorrow where our earthly lessons are taught."

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	13. An Unexpected Meeting

**__****As per usual, I am sorry for not updating regularly though the time has come...**

**__****I begin my job tomorrow which will take me away from my computer Monday to Friday from 8:30 until 5:00. As well as this, volunteering will keep me away on a few Saturdays but don't worry!**

** __****I will still make sure to update and, if not at regular intervals, to catch up for the weeks I haven't.**

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___I'd like to dedicate this chapter to:_

___Anna: Thanks love :) I'm glad that you're enjoying the story. _

___Alia: Thank you very much :) No greater compliment can be paid than having an individual style though I can't take all the credit as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle did most of the hard work for me :) _

___Ricka: I will try and update more often, don't worry :) Thank you for liking the couple. As always, I was worried that people would despise Luna but I was surprised that reader's have taken a shine to her. :D _

___TwilightFan12: Thank you for taking the time to review sweetheart :) I'm glad that you're enjoying the story as well and... I do have a few wheels in motion when it comes to the 'Forbidden Desires' sequel ;) _

___Tobias Adler-Holmes: Thanks for reading it Conor :) I appreciate it :) _

___MegNColl : I think I was due an update as well honey :) _

___NINA: Here's the latest update for your reading pleasure :) Wheels are in motion for the sequel ;) _

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**__****I hope you all enjoy the next few chapters...**

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As I sit here, beside the crackling fire, gazing at my young sister who slept by the feet of my best friend, I can not stop my mind from wondering back to when they first met.

"Doctor Watson, there is a young lady here, requesting you. Would you like me to send her up?" Mrs Hudson had called up the stairs one cool Autumn evening, just as me and Holmes had settled down by the fire with a glass of brandy, a gift from a grateful client. Of course, my friend's curiosity had been piped at this, knowing I had no lady in my life, so, with this in mind, he took the liberty of having her send this mysterious young woman up.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't John Hamish Watson. You know, dear brother, I swear you have not aged a single since the day you were sent off to war." Upon hearing my name, I glanced from the paper resting on my lap, only to see my young sister standing in the doorway. Her light mahogany hair had escaped the modest bonnet she wore, blown off by the wind no doubt. In her hand, she held a tattered old case which obviously held her few personal possessions and upon her right cheek was a dark mark; it's shape resembled that of a hand. Despite seeing the familiar bruising, I smiled brightly at her before taking her in my arms for a warm embrace.

"My darling Luna. How nice it is to see you after so long. What brings you here?"

"As you know, mother left us little under three months ago and I did try to stay with father..."she began, pulling away from me so she could look into my eyes, as though proving she was being genuine. "... but he has been speaking about marriage and, last week, tried to give my hand to a stranger, a brute to rival our father himself. When I refused..."

"He struck you." I stated, my hand moving to stroke the tender flesh of her cheek though the slightest pressure from my fingertips was enough to make her flinch. She didn't answer me, merely nodded, gazing down at the carpet beneath our feet before dragging her eyes upwards though they stopped, hovering just above my shoulder. That was when I realised that my friend was still in the room.

"My apologies John. I didn't realise you were not alone."

"It's perfectly all right." I assured her, turning around to face my friend who sat back in his chair, a smile on his face as his eyes grazed over my sister. I couldn't tell you why I cared as Sherlock Holmes wasn't known for his interactions with the fairer sex but yet, something in his gaze alarmed a protective instinct in me, something which hadn't happened in decades. However, before I could formally introduce them, he placed his sketchbook on the small table beside him then rose to his feet, offering a hand to my young sister.

"You must be my dear Watson's sister, Luanna."

"And you must be his flat mate, Sherlock Holmes."

"He has told you of me?"

"No. Unfortunately, me and my brother haven't written in months and never before did he mention you."

"Then how, if you don't mind me asking, did you know my name?" When I saw her eyes glance to the sketchbook on the table, I knew immediately of what she was doing.

"At the bottom of the page is a faint impression, left when you applied a little too much pressure when signing your name. However, your latest artistic effort required a fair amount of shading. The darkness of the charcoal has revealed a white signature of ' .'" she explained, smirking ever so slightly at him. Upon hearing how she managed to deduce his name, his eyes had widened a fraction of an inch, something which caused me to chuckle. My sister had always had an act for noticing little things though they were usually allowed to escape her mind a moment later.

"And yet, that does not explain how you know my first name pet."

"On your desk, tucked inside a text book, is a letter which you have obviously used as a place holder. Even from here, I can see the printed scrawl reading 'Sher'. The rest was merely a lucky guess on my part."

"Well, my dear.." he murmured, bending down to press a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "I believe that we have much to discuss. Watson, would you please be kind enough to pour a glass of brandy for your sister? Oh, and ask Mrs Hudson to prepare the spare room."

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	14. Old Schombe Place: Chapter One

Sherlock Holmes had been bending for a long time over a low-power microscope while my sister sat a few feet away from him, occasionally warning him that his back would not be best pleased at his constant hunching which was rewarded with the odd smile or huff of disbelief. Now, he had straightened himself up and looked around at me in triumph, his eyes lighting up with it.

"It is glue, Watson," said he. "Unquestionably it is glue. Have a look at these scattered objects in the field!" Rising from my seat, I approached the place he'd situated himself in, stooping down to the eyepiece before focusing it for my vision.

"Those hairs are threads from a tweed coat. The irregular grey masses are dust. There are epithelial scales on the left. Those brown blobs in the centre are undoubtedly glue."

"Well," I said, laughing, "I am prepared to take your word for it. Does anything depend upon it?"

"It is a very fine demonstration," he answered. "In the St. Pancras case you may remember that a cap was found beside the dead policeman. The accused man denies that it is his. But he is a picture-frame maker who habitually handles glue."

"Is it one of your cases?"

"No John. Someone at the Yard, Merivale I believe his name to be, asked me to ask him to look into the case." My sister remarked, looking for at me for a brief moment before returning her attention back to the sketch pad which rested in her lap. When I moved to my friend's side, I had captured a glimpse of the simplistic portrait of an Irregular though I found it difficult to name which lad it was. Unlike my sister and friend, I wasn't very good when it came to recalling their names which had led to a few mistakes.

"Since I ran down that coiner by the zinc and copper filings in the seam of his cuff they have begun to realize the importance of the microscope." He looked impatiently at his watch. "We have a new client calling, but he is overdue. By the way, Watson, you know something of racing?"

"I ought to. I pay for it with about half my wound pension."

"Then I'll make you my 'Handy Guide to the Turf.' What about Sir Robert Norberton? Does the name recall anything?"

"Well, I should say so. He lives at Shoscombe Old Place, and I know it well, for my summer quarters were down there once. Norberton nearly came within your province once."

"How was that?"

"It was when he horsewhipped Sam Brewer, the well-known Curzon Street money-lender, on Newmarket Heath. He nearly killed the man."

"Well, at least one sounds interesting. Does he often indulge in such a way John?" Luna asked, causing me to experience a rather strange mixture of emotions. I could understand her need for almost constant stimulation for my need was a matched pair, something that Sherlock's hectic lifestyle greatly encouraged, but I didn't particularly enjoy the idea that my baby sister was finding some shady characters interesting. As interesting as they were, I didn't wish her to be harmed by their hand so I did the only thing I could think of at such a moment. I answered her question... while slipping a small word of warning within it for, like her partner, she was stubborn and would infer a direct warning as being coddled.

"Well, he has the name of being a gravely dangerous man. He is about the most daredevil rider in England - second in the Grand National a few years back. He is one of those men who have overshot their true generation. He should have been a buck in the days of the Regency - a boxer, an athlete, a plunger on the turf, a lover of fair ladies, and, by all account, so far down Queer Street that he may never find his way back again."

"Capital, Watson! A thumb-nail sketch. I seem to know the man. Now, can you give me some idea of Shoscombe Old Place?"

"Only that it is in the centre of Shoscombe Park, and that the famous Shoscombe stud and training quarters are to be found there."

"And the head trainer," said Holmes, "is John Mason. You need not look surprised at my knowledge, Watson, for this is a letter from him which I am unfolding. But let us have some more about Shoscombe. I seem to have struck a rich vein."

"There are the Shoscombe spaniels," said I. "You hear of them at every dog show. The most exclusive breed in England. They are the special pride of the lady of Shoscombe Old Place."

"So Sir Robert Noberton has a wife?"

"No Lu; Sir Robert has never married. Just as well, I think, considering his prospects. He lives with his widowed sister, Lady Beatrice Falder."

"You mean that she lives with him?" She tried to correct but I simply shook my head at her assumption.

"No, no. The place belonged to her late husband, Sir James. Norberton has no claim on it at all. It is only a life interest and reverts to her husband's brother. Meantime, she draws the rents every year."

"And dearest brother Robert is the one who spends said rents?"

"Yes. That is about the size of it. He is a devil of a fellow and must lead her a most uneasy life. Yet I have heard that she is devoted to him. But what is amiss at Shoscombe?"

"Ah, that is just what I want to know. And here, I expect, is the man who can tell us." Holmes said, looking towards the entrance of our humble home.

The door had opened and the page had shown in a tall, clean-shaven man with the firm, austere expression which is only seen upon those who have to control horses or boys. Mr. John Mason had many of both under his sway, and he looked equal to the task. He bowed with cold self-possession and seated himself upon the chair to which Holmes had waved him.

"You had my note, Mr. Holmes?"

"Yes, but it explained nothing."

"It was too delicate a thing for me to put the details on paper. And too complicated. It was only face to face I could do it."

"Well, Dr Watson, my wife and myself are at your disposal."

"First of all, Mr. Holmes, I think that my employer, Sir Robert, has gone mad." At this statement, Holmes raised his eyebrows though my sister was quick to interject.

"You are aware sir, are you not, that you are in Baker Street; not Harley Street, correct?"

"Well, ma'am, when a man does one queer thing, or two queer things, there may be a meaning to it, but when everything he does is queer, then you begin to wonder."

"I must beg your indulgences sir but I am rather adapt at living with a 'mad' man. Perhaps he is just eccentric in his own right?" my sister inquired, her eyes straying over to Holmes when she mentioned the word 'mad'. Admittedly, our friend wasn't considered the sanest of men yet many sane men would seek his council at outrageous times throughout the day, valuing each word at around two pence.

"Mrs Holmes, I believe Shoscombe Prince and the Derby have turned his brain."

"That is a colt you are running?" Sherlock asked.

"The best in England, Mr. Holmes. I should know, if anyone does. Now, I'll be plain with you, for I know you are gentlemen of honour and that it won't go beyond the room. Sir Robert has got to win this Derby. He's up to the neck, and it's his last chance. Everything he could raise or borrow is on the horse-and at fine odds, too! You can get forties now, but it was nearer the hundred when he began to back him."

"But how is that if the horse is so good?"

"The public don't know how good he is. Sir Robert has been too clever for the touts. He has the Prince's half-brother out for spins. You can't tell 'em apart. But there are two lengths in a furlong between them when it comes to a gallop. He thinks of nothing but the horse and the race. His whole life is on it. He's holding off the Jews till then. If the Prince fails him he is done. "

"It seems a rather desperate gamble, but where does the madness come in?"

"Well, first of all, you have only to look at him. I don't believe he sleeps at night. He is down at the stables at all hours. His eyes are wild. It has all been too much for his nerves. Then there is his conduct to Lady Beatrice!"

"Ah! What is that?"

"They have always been the best of friends. They had the same tastes, the two of them, and she loved the horses as much as he did. Every day at the same hour she would drive down to see them - and, above all, she loved the Prince. He would prick up his ears when he heard the wheels on the gravel, and he would trot out each morning to the carriage to get his lump of sugar. But that's all over now."

"Why?"

"Well, she seems to have lost all interest in the horses. For a week now she has driven past the stables with never so much as 'Good-morning'! "

"Is it possible that there's been a quarrel?" Luna inquired, leaning forward in interest.

"Yes Mrs. And a bitter, savage, spiteful quarrel at that. Why else would he give away her pet spaniel that she loved as if he were her child? He gave it a few days ago to old Barnes, what keeps the Green Dragon, three miles off, at Crendall."

"That certainly did seem strange."

"Of course, with her weak heart and dropsy one couldn't expect that she could get about with him, but he spent two hours every evening in her room. He might well do what he could, for she has been a rare good friend to him. But that's all over, too. He never goes near her. And she takes it to heart. She is brooding and sulky and drinking, Mrs. Holmes - drinking like a fish."

"Did she drink before this estrangement?" My 'brother in law' cut in, an interest much like my sister's in his voice and a sparkle in his eyes.

"Well, she took her glass, but now it is often a whole bottle of an evening. So Stephens, the butler, told me. It's all changed, Mr. Holmes, and there is something damned rotten about it. But then, again, what is master doing down at the old church crypt at night? And who is the man that meets him there?"

Holmes rubbed his hands.

"Go on, Mr. Mason. You get more and more interesting."

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	15. Old Schombe Place: Chapter Two

"It was the butler who saw him go. Twelve o'clock at night and raining hard. So next night I was up at the house and, sure enough, master was off again. Stephens and I went after him, but it was jumpy work, for it would have been a bad job if he had seen us. He's a terrible man with his fists if he gets started, and no respecter of persons. So we were shy of getting too near, but we marked him down all right. It was the haunted crypt that he was making for, and there was a man waiting for him there."

"What is this haunted crypt?"

"Well, sir, there is an old ruined chapel in the park. It is so old that nobody could fix its date. And under it there's a crypt which has a bad name among us. It's a dark, damp, lonely place by day, but there are few in that county that would have the nerve to go near it at night. But master's not afraid. He never feared anything in his life. But what is he doing there in the night-time?"

"Wait a bit!" said Holmes. "You say there is another man there. It must be one of your own stablemen, or someone from the house! Surely you have only to spot who it is and question him?"

"It's no one I know."

"How can you say that?" Luna inquired.

"Because I have seen him, Mrs. Holmes. It was on that second night. Sir Robert turned and passed us - me and Stephens, quaking in the bushes like two bunny-rabbits, for there was a bit of moon that night. But we could hear the other moving about behind. We were not afraid of him. So we up when Sir Robert was gone and pretended we were just having a walk like in the moonlight, and so we came right on him as casual and innocent as you please. 'Hullo, mate! who may you be?' says I. I guess he had not heard us coming, so he looked over his shoulder with a face as if he had seen the devil coming out of hell. He let out a yell, and away he went as hard as he could lick it in the darkness. He could run! - I'll give him that. In a minute he was out of sight and hearing, and who he was, or what he was, we never found."

"But you saw him clearly in the moonlight?"

"Yes, I would swear to his yellow face - a mean dog, I should say. What could he have in common with Sir Robert?"

Holmes sat for some time lost in thought.

"Who keeps Lady Beatrice Falder company?" he asked at last.

"There is her maid, Carrie Evans. She has been with her this five years."

"And is, no doubt, devoted?"

Mr. Mason shuffled uncomfortably.

"She's devoted enough," he answered at last. "But I won't say to whom."

"Ah!" said Holmes.

"I can't tell tales out of school."

"No need sir, it's rather obvious. The maid was in love with the master and, from what my brother has told us of Sir Robert's character, no woman is safe from him." Luna said, stifling a small laugh behind her hand.

"Don't you think the quarrel between brother and sister may lie there?" Sherlock finished, smiling slightly at my sister.

"Well, the scandal has been pretty clear for a long time."

"But she may not have seen it before. Let us suppose that she has suddenly found it out. She wants to get rid of the woman. Her brother will not permit it. The invalid, with her weak heart and inability to get about, has no means of enforcing her will. The hated maid is still tied to her. The lady refuses to speak, sulks, takes to drink. Sir Robert in his anger takes her pet spaniel away from her. Does not all this hang together?"

"Well, it might do - so far as it goes."

"Exactly! As far as it goes. How would all that bear upon the visits by night to the old crypt? We can't fit that into our plot."

"No, sir, and there is something more that I can't fit in. Why should Sir Robert want to dig up a dead body?"

Holmes sat up abruptly.

"We only found it out yesterday - after I had written to you. Yesterday Sir Robert had gone to London, so Stephens and I went down to the crypt. It was all in order, sir, except that in one corner was a bit of a human body."

"You informed the police, I suppose?"

Our visitor smiled grimly.

"Well, sir, I think it would hardly interest them. It was just the head and a few bones of a mummy. It may have been a thousand years old. But it wasn't there before. That I'll swear, and so will Stephens. It had been stowed away in a corner and covered over with a board, but that corner had always been empty before."

"What did you do with it?"

"Well, we just left it there."

"That was wise. You say Sir Robert was away yesterday. Has he returned?"

"We expect him back to-day."

"When did Sir Robert give away his sister's dog?"

"It was just a week ago to-day. The creature was howling outside the old well house, and Sir Robert was in one of his tantrums that morning. He caught it up, and I thought he would have killed it. Then he gave it to Sandy Bain, the jockey, and told him to take the dog to old Barnes at the Green Dragon, for he never wished to see it again."

Holmes simply sat there for some time, sinking deeper into her thoughts after lighting his oldest, and foulest, pipe.

"I must admit, sir, that I'm not clear on what you'd like him to do, Mr. Mason." My sister said, standing from her seat. "Is it possible for you to make it more definite?"

"Perhaps this will make it more definite, Mrs. Holmes," said our visitor.

He took a paper from his pocket, and, unwrapping it carefully, he exposed a charred fragment of bone.

Holmes examined it with interest.

"Where did you get it?"

"There is a central heating furnace in the cellar under Lady Beatrice's room. It's been off for some time, but Sir Robert complained of cold and had it on again.

"Harvey runs it - he's one of my lads. This very morning he came to me with this which he found raking out the cinders. He didn't like the look of it."

"Nor do I," said Holmes. "What do you make of it, Watson?"

It was burned to a black cinder, but there could be no question as to its anatomical significance.

"It's the upper condyle of a human femur," said I.

"Exactly!" Holmes had become very serious. "When does this lad tend to the furnace?"

"He makes it up every evening and then leaves it."

"Then anyone could visit it during the night?"

"Yes, sir."

"Can you enter it from outside?"

"There is one door from outside. There is another which leads up by a stair to the passage in which Lady Beatrice's room is situated."

"These are deep waters, Mr. Mason..." Holmes began, only to have my sister interupt him mid way through his sentence.

"Extremely deep and so filthy that seeing one's feet is almost impossible."

"You say that Sir Robert was not at home last night?"

"No, sir."

"Then it was not Sir Robert who happened to be burning the bones, was it? Unless he has the mystical power of being in two places at once which isn't possible." Luna said, beginning to pace, her eyes fixated the carpet as she entered her own little world... in a similar fashion as her partner now I come to think about it.

"That's true Mrs."

"And the name of this inn you have spoken about? The green lizard?"

"The Green Dragon Mrs Holmes."

"Is there good fishing in that part of Berkshire?" The consultant detective asked casually but his tone did nothing to assure our visitor. The honest trainer showed very clearly upon his face that he was convinced that yet another lunatic had come into his harassed life.

"Well, sir, I've heard there are trout in the mill-stream and pike in the Hall lake."

"That's good enough. Watson and I are famous fishermen -are we not, Watson?"

"John is a fine fisherman. You, my love, happen to be the exact opposite. If I remember correctly, you began to scold the fish for moving up river..." My sister then turned to the trainer, a small smile on her face. "I swear, he has the temperament of a young child when the fish simply refuse to swim straight into his net. It's amusing to watch although the other fishermen don't tend to agree, especially when he scares their game away."

"You may address the three of us in future at the Green Dragon. We should reach it tonight. I need not say that we don't wish to see you, Mr Mason, but a note will reach us, and no doubt I could find you if I so wished to. When we have gone a little farther into the matter, I will let you have a considered opinion."

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	16. Old Schombe Place: Chapter Three

Thus it was that on a bright May evening Holmes, my sister and I found ourselves alone in a first-class carriage and bound for the little "halt-on-demand" station of Shoscombe. The rack above us was covered with a formidable litter of rods, reels, and baskets, as well as an easel and sketch pad. According to my dear younger sister, there would be nothing to occupy her time so she decided that sketching would be adequate enough.

On reaching our destination, a short drive took us to an old-fashioned tavern, where a sporting host, Josiah Barnes, entered eagerly into our plans for the extirpation of the fish of the neighbourhood.

"What about the Hall lake and the chance of a pike?" said Holmes.

The face of the innkeeper clouded.

"That wouldn't do, sir. You might chance to find yourself in the lake before you were through."

"How's that, then?"

"It's Sir Robert, sir. He's terrible jealous of touts. If you two strangers and your Mrs. were as near his training quarters as that he'd be after you as sure as fate. He ain't taking no chances, Sir Robert ain't."

"I've heard that he has a horse entered for the Derby, half descent one at that. I tried to persuade my husband to allow me a small wager on such a fine stallion but he simply refuses." Luna acted, latching herself onto Sherlock's arm with a small pout on her face, gazing up at him as though that would be enough to change his mind to her way of thinking but no such thing happened. Instead, he simply looked down at her, his eyes almost forbade her to speak of such a topic in a public place.

"That is because, my dear, there is no certainty he is any good. I wouldn't wish for you to be disappointed when it came trotting up last..." Once this was said, he turned back to the gentleman before us. "... Please sir, I beg you to be the bearer of sense. This horse can't be as good as the rumours lead us to believe, can it?"

"Yes, and a good colt, too. That horse carries all our money for the race, and all Sir Robert's into the bargain. By the way" - he looked at us with thoughtful eyes - "I suppose you ain't on the turf yourselves?"

"My husband, my dearest brother and myself are simply a trio of Londoners They are here for the fishing and I am simply here to get some of the famous Berkshire air." she explained with a small giggle, batting her eyelashes in ,what I observed to be, an innocent enough manner. Looking back, it reminded me of the way she would persuade me into giving her my last sweet. A giggle and a long look into those blue eyes were enough to get me to hand it over willingly, anything to see her smile.

"Well, you are in the right place for that Mrs... There is a great deal of it lying about. But mind what I have told you about Sir Robert. He's the sort that strikes first and speaks afterwards. Keep clear of the park."

"Surely, Mr. Barnes! We certainly shall." Sherlock said, taking hold of Luna's arm but she wasn't finished. Instead, she smiled once more to the man.

"That was the most beautiful little spaniel I saw whining in the hall."

"I should say it was Mrs. That was the real Shoscombe breed. There ain't a better in England."

"My apologises sir. My wife is simply a lover of dogs though I am quite the dog-fancier myself..." The moment those words left his mouth, my sister was forced to stifle a giggle behind her hand but, to his merit, Sherlock ignored her and continued on. "Now, if it is a fair question, what would a prize dog such as that cost?"

"More than I could pay, sir. It was Sir Robert himself who gave me this one. That's why I have to keep it on a lead. It would be off to the Hall in a jiffy if I gave it its head."

"You fancy dogs, do you Sherlock?" She asked jokingly when the man left, her eyes sparkling mischievously. At this, he shook his head with a small chuckle.

"Only you, my love, would call yourself a dog."

"I did no such thing!"

"Ah, but you did darling.." he murmured softly, drawing her closer to him until their bodies were pressed against each other. "You see, the only thing I fancy around here is you. In extension, if your words are true, you have just called yourself a dog."

To the passer by, it may seem appropriate, especially as they appeared to be married but I could not stop the quiet growl which escaped my throat at seeing my younger sister pressed against somebody so intimately, even if he was my best friend.

"However," he continued, his hand rising to cup her cheek, his fingers caressing the skin softly, "if you were... I can guarantee that you would win any show."

"Only you, Sherlock, can turn that into a compliment."

"We are getting some cards in our hand, Watson," said Holmes as placed our things in our room.S "It's not an easy one to play, but we may see our way in a day or two. By the way, Sir Robert is still in London, I hear. We might, perhaps, enter the sacred domain tonight without fear of bodily assault."

"Then I think I will need a short nap before we venture off." Luna told him, linking her arm with his but he shook his head, sighing as he did so.

"You will not be accompanying us with that venture my dear."

"Why ever not?"

"It's not the place for a woman pet, that is all." At this, she turned to glare at him through narrow eyes, showing him that he'd touched on a sensitive topic.

For all those who aren't well acquainted with my sister, she wasn't the most lady like woman in the world. Of course, she could portray herself in the correct and appropriate fashion when in the company of nobility and such but given the choice, she would rather insult them bluntly. However, one thing she didn't shy away from was danger and she simply refused to bow down to societies views on a woman's role in life.

"Ah, so you believe I should be in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant?" she challenged, looking at him. The moment she mentioned pregnancy, the detective spluttered, his eyes widening in a comic fashion as he stared at her.

"Luanna! H-How... W-We... C-Can't..." he stuttered, his eyes moving around the room as if he searching for something to distract her but she simply chuckled then leant up to press a kiss to his cheek which seemed a suspicious shade of pink.

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	17. Old Schombe Place: Chapter Four

"There are one or two points on which I should like reassurance." Sherlock said, recovering from his earlier shock.

"Have you any theory, Holmes?"

"Only this, Watson, that something happened a week or so ago which has cut deep into the life of the Shoscombe household. What is that something? We can only guess at it from its effects. They seem to be of a curiously mixed character. But that should surely help us. It is only the colourless, uneventful case which is hopeless.

"Let us consider our data. The brother no longer visits the beloved invalid sister. He gives away her favourite dog. Her dog, Watson! Does that suggest nothing to you?"

"Nothing but the brother's spite."

"Well, that may be so..."

"Or, there is an alternative. Now to continue our review of the situation from the time that the quarrel, if there was such a quarrel, began. The lady keeps to her room, alters her habits, is not seen save when she takes a drive with her maid, refuses to stop at the stables which happens to house her favourite horse and apparently, has taken to the drink. That covers the case, does it not my love?" My sister asked, smiling gently up at him before slipping her hand into his hold. As usual, he intertwined their fingers, his thumb absent mindedly rubbing small circles in the back of her hand while his mind ventured off in thought.

"Save for the business in the crypt." I added.

"That is another line of thought. There are two, and I beg you will not tangle them. Line A, which concerns Lady Beatrice, has a vaguely sinister flavour, has it not?"

"I can make nothing of it."

"Well then Watson, let us now take up line B which concerns Sir Robert. He is mad keen upon winning the Derby. He is in the hands of the Jews, and may at any point, be sold up and his racing stables seized by his creditors."

"So it is obvious that he is both a very daring and rather desperate man." Luna interjected, causing the detective to lift her hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss there which brought a smile to my face. Despite them being on a case, he couldn't seem to resist showing some signs of affection. To us, a gentle kiss upon our lady's hand or an absent minded caress may be observed as normal, but it was far from the mark in relation to Sherlock.

"He derives his income from his sister. His sister's maid is his willing tool. So far we seem to be on fairly safe ground, do we not?"

"But the crypt?"

"Ah, yes, the crypt! Let us suppose, Watson - it is merely a scandalous supposition, a hypothesis put forward for argument's sake - that Sir Robert has done away with his sister."

"My dear Holmes, it is out of the question."

"It's quite possible John. Sir Robert is a man of honourable stock. But you do occasionally find a carrion crow among the eagles so let us, just for a moment, argue upon this supposition. He could not fly the country until he realised his fortune, and that fortune could only be realised by bringing off this coup with Shoscombe Prince." My little sister began, only to be interrupted by Holmes.

"Therefore, he has still to stand his ground. To do this he would have to dispose of the body of his victim, and he would also have to find a substitute who would impersonate her. With the maid as his confidante that would not be impossible. The woman's body might be conveyed to the crypt, which is a place so seldom visited, and it might be secretly destroyed at night in the furnace, leaving behind it such evidence as we have already seen. What say you to that, Watson?"

"Well, it is all possible if you grant the original monstrous supposition."

"I think that there is a small experiment which we may try to-morrow, Watson, in order to throw some light on the matter. Meanwhile, if we mean to keep up our characters, I suggest that we have our host in for a glass of his own wine and hold some high converse upon eels and dace, which seems to be the straight road to his affections. We may chance to come upon some useful local gossip in the process."

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	18. Old Schombe Place: Chapter Five

In the morning Holmes discovered that we had come without our spoon-bait for jack, which absolved us from fishing for the day. About eleven o'clock we started for a walk, and he obtained leave to take the black spaniel with us.

"This is the place," said he as we came to two high park gates with heraldic griffins towering above them. "About midday, Mr Barnes informs me, the old lady takes a drive, and the carriage must slow down while the gates are opened. When it comes through, and before it gathers speed, I want you, Watson, to stop the coachman with some question. Never mind me and my pet. We shall stand behind this holly bush and see what we can observe."

It was not a long vigil. Within a quarter of an hour we saw the big open yellow barouche coming down the long avenue, with two splendid, high-stepping gray carriage horses in the shafts. Holmes and my sister crouched behind their bush with the dog, Luna's hand carefully petting it's ears. I stood unconcernedly swinging a cane in the roadway. A keeper ran out and the gates swung open.

The carriage had slowed to a walk, and I was able to get a good look at the occupants. A highly coloured young woman with flaxen hair and impudent eyes sat on the left. At her right was an elderly person with rounded back and a huddle of shawls about her face and shoulders which proclaimed the invalid. When the horses reached the high road I held up my hand with an authoritative gesture, and as the coachman pulled up I inquired if Sir Robert was at Shoscombe Old Place.

At the same moment, my sister stepped out and released the spaniel. With a joyous cry it dashed forward to the carriage and sprang upon the step. Then in a moment its eager greeting changed to furious rage, and it snapped at the black skirt above it.

"Drive on! Drive on!" shrieked a harsh voice. The coachman lashed the horses, and we were left standing in the roadway.

"Well, Watson, that's done it," said Holmes, wandering towards me while Lu fastened the lead to the neck of the excited spaniel. "He thought it was his mistress, and he found it was a stranger. Dogs don't make mistakes."

"But it was the voice of a man!" I cried.

"Exactly! We have added one card to our hand, Watson, but it needs careful playing, all the same."

My companion seemed to have no further plans for the day, and we did actually use our fishing tackle in the mill-stream with the result that we had a dish of trout for our supper. Now my sister may not be the best at baking but thanks to the occasional lessons from Mary and Mrs Hudson, she had successfully cooked the fish, a miracle in itself as it was the first time she had cooked without close supervision. It was only after that meal that Holmes showed signs of renewed activity. Once more we found ourselves upon the same road as in the morning, which led us to the park gates. A tall, dark figure was awaiting us there, who proved to be our London acquaintance, Mr. John Mason, the trainer.

"Good-evening, gentlemen... Mrs." said he. "I got your note, Mr. Holmes. Sir Robert has not returned yet, but I hear that he is expected tonight."

"How far is this crypt from the house?" asked Holmes.

"A good quarter of a mile."

"Then I think we can disregard him altogether." My sister said with a soft smile.

"I can't afford to do that, Mrs. Holmes. The moment he arrives he will want to see me to get the last news of Shoscombe Prince."

"I see! In that case we must work without you, Mr. Mason. You can show us the crypt and then leave us." Sherlock assured.

It was pitch-dark and the moon was absent from the sky but Mason led us expertly over the grass-lands until a dark mass loomed up in front of us. As we approached the ancient chapel, my sister shivered slightly between us, the chilly breeze nipping at her bare arms no doubt. However, before I could offer her the thick tweed jacket I had grabbed on my way out, Sherlock had shrugged his coat off then carefully wrapped it around her shoulders, his arm lingering there for a few moments to keep it on.

"I vaguely recall asking you to wear a coat this evening as it was obviously going to be chilly. Is there any particular reason as to why you ignored my advice?" he asked, looking down at her.

"If I had remembered to bring my coat love, I would not have been presented with such a perfect opportunity as this." she stated confidently, glancing up at him with deep blue eyes which seemed to glint with feign innocence.

"To do wh-" his words were quickly interrupted by my little sister's lips pressing softly against his own. After a few moments, she took a small step back, allowing them to separate though the detective didn't wish for any distance as he quickly closed it again, taking her face into his hands so she wouldn't be able to leave prematurely. Shaking my head at the pair, I continued following Mason, knowing full well that the pair of lovers would join us in their own time.

I could not really blame them. Cases had been coming quickly, leaving little time during and between them, allowing them no time to be together. Touches were brief, kisses lingered and quiet nights in were almost non existent. I could allow them that at least. Neither of them were overly familiar with other people and, despite the thoughts of many, they were both human beings whom had feelings which needed to be expressed.

Eventually, we entered the broken gap which was once the porch, and our guide, stumbling among heaps of loose masonry, picked his way to the corner of the building, where a steep stair led down into the crypt. Striking a match, Mason illuminated the melancholy place - dismal and evil-smelling, with ancient crumbling walls of rough-hewn stone, and piles of coffins, some of lead and some of stone, extending upon one side right up to the arched and groined roof which lost itself in the shadows above our heads. Holmes had lit his lantern, which shot a tiny tunnel of vivid yellow light upon the mournful scene. Its rays were reflected back from the coffin-plates, many of them adorned with the griffin and coronet of this old family which carried its honours even to the gate of Death.

Upon seeing the coffins, Luna gasped softly, instantly moving more into her lover's side. In an attempt at comfort, he held her around the waist, stroking her side gently but even I could see her hands trembling as they held his jacket tightly.

"You spoke of some bones, Mr. Mason. Could you show them before you go?" At this, the colour visibly drained from my sister's face.

I had noticed that, ever since an old case which involved the discovery of a mass burial ground in the country, Luna was incredibly unsettled around bones. She could no longer accompany Sherlock in some of his medical escapades as they placed her firmly out of her comfort zone, somewhere she didn't enjoy being unless completely necessary to a case.

From where I stood, I noticed her swallow slightly, moving even closer to my friend though not stepping back. Something I was proud of her for.

"They are here in this corner." The trainer strode across and then stood in silent surprise as our light was turned upon the place. "They are gone," said he.

"So I expected," said Holmes, chuckling. Within a moment, Luanna calmed by his side, sagging slightly in relief as the detective pressed a kiss to her forehead, smiling at her obvious gratitude towards the sudden disappearance of the remains. "I fancy the ashes of them might even now be found in that oven which had already consumed a part."

"But why in the world would anyone want to burn the bones of a man who has been dead a thousand years?" asked John Mason.

"That is what we are here to find out," said Holmes. "It may mean a long search, and we need not detain you. I fancy that we shall get our solution before morning." However, before he left, Sherlock stopped him by placing a hand on his arm. "Could you possible do me a small errand?"

"Of course sir."

"I would greatly appreciate it if you would take my wife back to the Inn we are staying at. She would be much better there with a cup of tea than out here with the howling wind and the promise of a long night."

"I do not wish to leave you." she stated firmly, placing her foot down as if to solidify her point but her 'husband' merely pressed a kiss to her lips then placed her beside John Mason. "Sherlock..."

"You are not to argue with me tonight pet. Be off to the inn with you and if I hear you have caused the kind gentleman any unnecessary trouble..." he allowed the sentence to trail off though a stern look did accompany it.

"What will you do? Punish me?"

"Do not tempt me. Now, be gone with you."

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	19. Old Schombe Place: Chapter Six

When John Mason had left us, taking my little sister with him, Holmes set to work making a very careful examination of the graves, ranging from a very ancient one, which appeared to be Saxon, in the centre, through a long line of Norman Hugos and Odos, until we reached the Sir William and Sir Denis Falder of the eighteenth century. It was an hour or more before Holmes came to a leaden coffin standing on end before the entrance to the vault. I heard his little cry of satisfaction and was aware from his hurried but purposeful movements that he had reached a goal. With his lens he was eagerly examining the edges of the heavy lid. Then he drew from his pocket a short jemmy, a box-opener, which he thrust into a chink, levering back the whole front, which seemed to be secured by only a couple of clamps. There was a rending, tearing sound as it gave way, but it had hardly hinged back and partly revealed the contents before we had an unforeseen interruption.

Someone was walking in the chapel above. It was the firm, rapid step of one who came with a definite purpose and knew well the ground upon which he walked. A light streamed down the stairs, and an instant later the man who bore it was framed in the Gothic archway. He was a terrible figure, huge in stature and fierce in manner. A large stable-lantern which he held in front of him shone upward upon a strong, heavily moustached face and angry eyes, which glared round him into every recess of the vault, finally fixing themselves with a deadly stare upon my companion and myself.

"Who the devil are you?" he thundered. "And what are you doing upon my property?" Then, as Holmes returned no answer he took a couple of steps forward and raised a heavy stick which he carried. "Do you hear me?" he cried. "Who are you? What are you doing here?" His cudgel quivered in the air.

But instead of shrinking Holmes advanced to meet him.

"I also have a question to ask you, Sir Robert," he said in his sternest tone. "Who is this? And what is it doing here?"

He turned and tore open the coffin-lid behind him. In the glare of the lantern I saw a body swathed in a sheet from head to foot with dreadful, witch-like features, all nose and chin, projecting at one end, the dim, glazed eyes staring from a discoloured and crumbling face.

The baronet had staggered back with a cry and supported himself against a stone sarcophagus.

"How came you to know of this?" he cried. And then, with some return of his truculent manner: "What business is it of yours?"

"My name is Sherlock Holmes," said my companion. "Possibly it is familiar to you. In any case, my business is that of every other good citizen - to uphold the law. It seems to me that you have much to answer for."

Sir Robert glared for a moment, but Holmes' quiet voice and cool, assured manner had their effect.

" 'Fore God, Mr. Holmes, it's all right," said he. "Appearances are against me, I'll admit, but I could act no otherwise."

"I should be happy to think so, but I fear your explanations must be before the police."

Sir Robert shrugged his broad shoulders.

"Well, if it must be, it must. Come up to the house and you can judge for yourself how the matter stands."

A quarter of an hour later we found ourselves in what I judge, from the lines of polished barrels behind glass covers, to be the gun-room of the old house. It was comfortably furnished, and here Sir Robert left us for a few moments. When he returned he had two companions with him; the one, the florid young woman whom we had seen in the carriage; the other, a small rat-faced man with a disagreeably furtive manner. These two wore an appearance of utter bewilderment, which showed that the baronet had not yet had time to explain to them the turn events had taken.

"There," said Sir Robert with a wave of his hand, "are Mr. and Mrs. Norlett. Mrs. Norlett, under her maiden name of Evans, has for some years been my sister's confidential maid. I have brought them here because I feel that my best course is to explain the true position to you, and they are the two people upon earth who can substantiate what I say."

"Is this necessary, Sir Robert? Have you thought what you are doing?" cried the woman.

"As to me, I entirely disclaim all responsibility," said her husband.

Sir Robert gave him a glance of contempt. "I will take all responsibility," said he. "Now, Mr. Holmes, listen to a plain statement of the facts.

"You have clearly gone pretty deeply into my affairs or I should not have found you where I did. Therefore, you know already, in all probability, that I am running a dark horse for the Derby and that everything depends upon my success. If I win, all is easy. If I lose - well, I dare not think of that!"

"I understand the position," said Holmes.

"I am dependent upon my sister, Lady Beatrice, for everything. But it is well known that her interest in the estate is for her own life only. For myself, I am deeply in the hands of the Jews. I have always known that if my sister were to die my creditors would be on to my estate like a flock of vultures. Everything would be seized - my stables, my horses - everything. Well, Mr. Holmes, my sister did die just a week ago."

"And you told no one!"

"What could I do? Absolute ruin faced me. If I could stave things off for three weeks all would be well. Her maid's husband - this man here - is an actor. It came into our heads - it came into my head - that he could for that short period impersonate my sister. It was but a case of appearing daily in the carriage, for no one need enter her room save the maid. It was not difficult to arrange. My sister died of the dropsy which had long afflicted her."

"That will be for a coroner to decide."

"Her doctor would certify that for months her symptoms have threatened such an end."

"Well, what did you do?"

"The body could not remain there. On the first night Norlett and I carried it out to the old well-house, which is now never used. We were followed, however, by her pet spaniel, which yapped continually at the door, so I felt some safer place was needed. I got rid of the spaniel, and we carried the body to the crypt of the church. There was no indignity or irreverence, Mr. Holmes. I do not feel that I have wronged the dead."

"Your conduct seems to me inexcusable, Sir Robert."

The baronet shook his head impatiently. "It is easy to preach," said he. "Perhaps you would have felt differently if you had been in my position. One cannot see all one's hopes and all one's plans shattered at the last moment and make no effort to save them. It seemed to me that it would be no unworthy resting-place if we put her for the time in one of the coffins of her husband's ancestors lying in what is still consecrated ground. We opened such a coffin, removed the contents, and placed her as you have seen her. As to the old relics which we took out, we could not leave them on the floor of the crypt. Norlett and I removed them, and he descended at night and burned them in the central furnace. There is my story, Mr. Holmes, though how you forced my hand so that I have to tell it is more than I can say."

Holmes sat for some time lost in thought.

"There is one flaw in your narrative, Sir Robert," he said at last. "Your bets on the race, and therefore your hopes for the future, would hold good even if your creditors seized your estate."

"The horse would be part of the estate. What do they care for my bets? As likely as not they would not run him at all. My chief creditor is, unhappily, my most bitter enemy - a rascally fellow, Sam Brewer, whom I was once compelled to horsewhip on Newmarket Heath. Do you suppose that he would try to save me?"

"Well, Sir Robert," said Holmes, rising, "this matter must, of course, be referred to the police. It was my duty to bring the facts to light, and there I must leave it. As to the morality or decency of your conduct, it is not for me to express an opinion. It is nearly midnight, Watson, and I think we may make our way back to our darling. Tomorrow, we shall return to our humble abode in Baker street."

It is generally known now that this singular episode ended upon a happier note than Sir Robert's actions deserved. Shoscombe Prince did win the Derby, the sporting owner did net eighty thousand pounds in bets, and the creditors did hold their hand until the race was over, when they were paid in full, and enough was left to re-establish Sir Robert in a fair position in life. Both police and coroner took a lenient view of the transaction, and beyond a mild censure for the delay in registering the lady's decease, the lucky owner got away scatheless from this strange incident in a career which has now outlived its shadows and promises to end in an honoured old age.

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	20. Questionable Realisations

_**Hello kiddiewinkles of mine...**_

_**Isn't it strange that I'm updating on a Friday? Well, I shall tell you the reason behind it. **_

_**My work is at a lull since the college has no students during the summer so I've had time to write :D Woooo!**_

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_I'd like to dedicate this chapter to:_

_Guest: Thank you sweetie! :D_

_Streetdog: You're very welcome :) I'm glad you're enjoying it. _

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**_Hope you all enjoy this chapter! :D_**

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"I have to say Watson, I don't think I have come across a more…. spectacular sight than this." Sherlock murmured softly to me, his eyes practically glued to my sister who was standing at the other end of Mrs Hudson's living room, looking out of the window at the passing carriages while swaying gently from side to side with a baby girl cradled carefully in her arms. Our land lady's niece had decided to pay her favoured aunt a visit and my sister had offered to keep an eye on the infant while they went to lunch for a catch-up which was long overdue.

"Getting broody Holmes?" I joked, nudging his side lightly with my elbow with the idea that he would dismiss it with a chuckle before reminding me how dangerous our lives can be. However, I quickly fell into silence when he simply sat there, his expression taking on a thoughtful quality as he remained gazing at my sister, a warm affection lightly up his eyes.

"Ah Watson," he began with a sigh before turning to look at me, seriousness written all his face. "If only you knew how much thought I have given to the idea before now."

"Y-You've contemplated this before?" I stuttered, surprised that he had given thought to starting a family with my sister. Sherlock Holmes? Giving up cases and crime to settle down and have a family? The idea would seem preposterous, if not for the longing in his gaze when he spoke of such things.

"How could I not? You have seen how she is with children. Many a time have I imagined myself sitting in my chair in front of the fireplace, a mahogany haired beauty sitting on my lap, sloppily tripping over her words as she attempts to read for the first time, my pet smiling down at us with that beautiful smile of hers lighting up the living room."

A soft whimpering filled the room, forcing our gazes back to my sister who remained perfectly calm as she moved the baby to rest against her shoulder, humming as she slowly span around in a circle. When her eyes met those of Sherlock's, she smiled brightly, causing him to return a smaller one of his own, before beckoning him over with her finger. Powerless, he obediently moved to her side, his arms slipping around her waist as he whispered in her ear, causing her to blush.

It was strange, to see the pair in such a domestic situation as they were the furthest thing from domestic but it gave me a glimpse into the desires of my best friend. Like any other man, he wanted a child to protect and call his own but his lifestyle kept him from having what he craved the most.

"I love you…"he told her sincerely as she leaned up ever so slightly to press a kiss to his lips. Instinctively, one of his hands crept up to tangle in her hair, keeping her close, but a murmur from the child made him pull away. "I'm sorry darling. I did not mean to steal her focus from such a delicate flower." The little girl simply looked up at him with big blue eyes before reaching a small hand up to take hold of his finger, giggling softly at the pale digit.

From where I sat, I could see that the couple were destined to be parents and it upset me to the very core to know that they would never give themselves the opportunity.

It wasn't long after such an exchange that her mother returned, walking arm and arm with Mrs Hudson, both laughing loudly until Luna placed a finger to her mouth, asking for silence. Young baby Lillian slept soundly in her arms as she sat beside Sherlock, the pair keeping a close eye on the slumbering infant.

"How did ya get 'er to sleep?" Emily asked, her cockney accent thickly coating each whispered word.

"The touch of an angel is enough to put the most restless mind at peace." Sherlock answered, pressing a kiss to Luna's temple before tucking a loose curl behind her ear, causing her cheeks to tint an adorable shade of pink.

"You, my love, flatter me."

"What kind of husband would I be if I didn't take a few moments each day to give my wife some well-deserved flattery?" he asked, his hand trailing down to caress her arm as she handed the child back to her mother. Even I must commend his dedication to their small deception.

"Sherlock, we're not married." She told him with a giggle, shaking her head fondly.

"We could be."

"What!?" Admittedly, the word left my mouth before it had left my sister's but I couldn't reframe. He had just proposed to my sister!

"I know that its common practise to ask for her father's permission but as he is no longer an active part of her life, I believe you are next in line my dear Watson..." After saying this, he turned and took my hand in his, holding it tightly. "… Will you allow me to make your sister my wife? Legitimately this time."

I didn't know what to say.

There he was, my master on every crime scene, almost begging me for my sister's hand in marriage. If I said no, I would be giving her the chance to leave London, make her own way in this world and find a man, a safe man, who could offer her the world and a family; if I said yes, I would be giving her the man she wants but giving her to a life of danger.

What should I have done?

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